INKLE  AND  YAKICO : 

ASS  ©puna, 

IN  THREE  ACTS, 

BY  GEORGE  COLMAN,  ESQ. 

Correctly  given,  as  performed  at  the  Theatres  Royal 
WITH    REMARKS. 


NEW  YORK  : 

PUBLISHED  BY  CHARLES  WILEY,  NO.  3  WALL  STREET,  AND  11. 

C,  CAREY,  &  I.  LEA,  AND  MCCARTY  &  DAVIS,  PHILADEL? 

FHIA,  AND  SAML.  H.  HARPER,  BOSTON, 


vm, 


LIBRARY  WW.  OF 
N6RIH  CAR0UM 


REMARKS, 


The  great  success  of  this  opera  in  every 
theatre  of  the  kingdom,  since  its  first  represen- 
tation at  the  Hay  market,  is  justified  by  its  real 
merit.  The  dialogue  is  not  a  collection  of  trite 
common-places,  to  connect  the  music ;  but  is 
replete  with  taste,  judgment',  and  manly  feel- 
ing: — the  allusions  to  slavery  (now  so  nobly 
abolished)  correspond  with  every  British,  every 
liberal,  mind.  The  mal-a-propos  offer  of  Inkle 
to  sell  his  Yarico  to  Sir  Christopher,  is  an  ad- 
mirable incident ;  and  indeed  all  the  characters 
are  so  forcibly  drawn,  that  the  most  trifling  part 
is|effective. 

The  pathetic  story  of  Inkle  and  Yarico  first 
attracted  sympathy,  from  the  narrative  of  Mr. 
Addison,  in  the  Spectator :  to  that  affecting 
story,  Mr.  Colman  was  indebted  only  for  the 
cold,  calculating,  Inkle ;  and  the  gentle,  affec- 
tionate Yarico : — the  rest  of  the  characters  and 
the  developement  of  the  story  are  the  offspring 
of  his  abundant  invention* 


B25185 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Covent  Garden.     Hay  Market 
Inkle  Mr.  Johnstone.  Mr.  J.  Bannister. 

Sir  Christopher  Curry       Quick.  Parsons. 

Campley  Davies.  Davies. 

Medium  Wewitzer.  Baddeley. 

Trudge  Edwin.  Edwin. 

Mate  Darley.  Meadows. 

Yarico  Mrs.  Billington.  Mrs.  Kemble. 
Narcissa  Mountain.  Bannister. 

Wowski  Martyr.      Miss  George. 

Patty  Rock  Mrs.  Forster. 

SCENE.— First,  on  the  Main  of  America;   after- 
wards, in  Barkad&es. 


INKLE  AND  YARICO. 

ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I. 

AN  AMERICAN  FOREST. 

Med.   (without)  Hilli  ho !  ho  ! 

Trudge,  (without.)  Hip  !  hollo  I  ho  !— Hip  !■— 
Enter  Medium  and  Trudge. 

Med.  Pshclw !  its  only  wasting  time  and  breath, 
Bawling  won't  persuade  him  to  budge  a  bit  faster. 
Things  are  all  altered  now ;  and,  whatever  weight  it 
may  have  in  some  places,  bawling,  it  seems,  don't  go 
for  argument  here.  Plague  on't  I  we  are  now  in  the 
wilds  of  America. 

Trudge.  Hip,  hillio—  ho— hi  !— 

Med.  Hold  your  tongue,  you  blockhead,  or— 

Trudge.  Lord  I  sir,  if  my  master  makes  no  more 
haste,  we  shall  all  be  put  to  sword  by  the  knives  of  the 
natives.  Pm  told  they  take  off  heads  like  hats,  and 
hang  'em  on  pegs  in  their  parlours.  Mercy  on  us ! 
my  head  aches  with  the  very  thoughts  of  it.  Holo  I 
Mr.  Inkle  !  master ;  holo  ! 

Med.  Head  aches !  zounds,  so  does  mine  with  your 
confounded  bawling.  It's  enough  to  bring  all  the  na* 
lives  about  us;  and  we  shall  be  stripped  and  plundered 
in  a  minute. 

VOL.  XIV, 


6  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  i. 

Trudge.  Aye;  stripping  is  the  first  thing  that  would 
happen  to  us;  for  they  seem  to  be  wofully  off  for  a 
wardrobe.  I  myself  saw  three,  at  a  distance,  with  less 
clothes  than  I  have  when  I  get  out  of  bed  :  all  dancing 
about  in  black  buff;  just  like  Adam  in  mourning. 

Med.  This  is  to  have  to  do  with  a  schemer  !  a  fel- 
low who  risques  his  life,  for  a  chance  of  advancing  his 
interest. — Always  advantage  in  view  !  trying,  here,  to 
make  discoveries  that  may  promote  his  profit  in  Eng- 
land. Another  Botany  Bay  scheme,  mayhap.  Nothing 
else  could  induce  him  to  quit  our  foraging  party,  from 
the  ship  ;  when  he  knows  every  inhabitant  here  is  not 
only  as  black  as  a  pepper-corn,  but  as  hot  into  the 
bargain — and  I,  like  a  tool,  to  follow  him  !  and  then 
to  let  him  loiter  behind.     Why,  nephew  !  why,  Inkle. 

[calling. 
Trudge.  Why,  Inkle — Well !  only  to  see  the  differ- 
ence of  men !  he'd  have  thought  it  very  hard,  now,  if 
I  had  let  him  call  so  often  after  me.  Ah !  I  wish  he 
was  calling  after  me  now,  in  the  old  jog-trot  way, 
again.  What  a  fool  was  I,  to  leave  London  for  foreign 
parts  I—That  ever  I  should  leave  Threadneedle-street, 
to  thread  an  American  forest,  where  a  man's  as  soon 
lost  as  a  needle  in  a  bottle  of  hay  ! 

Med.  Patience,  Trudge !  patience !  if  we  once  re- 
cover the  ship — 

Trudge.  Lord,  sir,  I  shall  never  recover  what  1 
have  lost  in  coming  abroad.  When  my  master  and  I 
were  in  London,  I  had  such  a  mortal  snug  birth  of  it ! 
why,  i  was  factotum. 

Med.  Factotum  to  a  young  merchant  is  no  such 
sinecure,  neither. 

Trudge.  But  then  the  honour  of  it.  Think  of  that, 
sir ;  to  be  clerk  as  well  as  own  man.  Only  consider. 
You  find  very  few  city  clerks  made  out  of  a  man,  now- 
a-days.  To  be  king  of  the  counting-house,  as  well  as 
lord  q£  the  bed-chamhex.    Ah  I  if  I  had  him  but  now 


scene  i.  AN  OPERA.  # 

in  the  little  dressing  room  behind  the  office ;  tying  his 
hair,  with  a  bit  of  red  tape,  as  usual. 

Med.  Yes,  or  writing  an  invoice  with  lamp-black, 
and  shining  his  shoes  with  an  ink  bottle,  as  usual,  you 
blundering  blockhead ! 

Trudge.  Oh !  if  I  was  but  brushing  the  accounts,  ox- 
casting  up  the  coats  !  mercy  on  us  !  what's  that  ? 

Med.  That!  what? 

Trudge.  Did'nt  you  hear  a  noise  ? 

Med.  Y — es — but— hush  !  Oh,  heavens  be  praised! 
here  he  is  at  last. 

Enter  Inkle. 
Now  nephew  ? 

Inkle.  So,  Mr.  Medium. 

Med.  Zounds,  one  would  think,  by  your  cbnfounded 
composure,  that  you  were  walking  in  St  James's  Park, 
instead  of  an  American  Forest ;  and  that  all  the  beasts 
wTere  nothing  but  good  company.  The  hollow  trees, 
here,  centry  boxes,  and  the  lions  in  'em  soldiers;  the 
jackalls,  courtiers :  the  crocodiles,  fine  women ;  and 
the  baboons,  beaus.  What  the  plague  made  you  goiter 
so  long  ? 

Inkle.  Reflection. 

Med.  So  I  should  think ;  reflection  generally  comes 
lagging  behind.  What,  scheming,  I  suppose:  never 
quiet.  At  it  again,  eh :  what,  a  happy  trader  is  your 
father,  to  have  so  prudent  a  son,  for  a  partner!  why, 
you  are  the  carefullest  Co.  in  the  whole  city.  Never 
losing  sight  of  the  main  chance ;  and  that's  the  reason, 
perhaps,  you  lost  sight  of  us,  here,  on  the  main  of 
America. 

Inkle.  Right,  Mr.  Medium.  Arithmetic,  I  own,  has 
been  the  means  of  our  parting  at  present. 

Trudge.  Ha  !  a  sum  in  division,  I  reckon,      (aside. 

Med.  And  pray,  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  what  mighty 
scheme  has  just  tempted  you  to  employ  your  head, 
when  you  ought  to  make  use  of  your  heels  ? 

InMs.  Mv  heels !   here's  nvetty  doctixne !   do  voo 


8  INKLE  AND  YAEICO,  act  r. 

think  I  travel  merely  for  motion  ?  a  fine  expensive  plan 
for  a  trader,  truly.  What,  would  you  have  a  man  of 
business  come  abroad,  scamper  extravagantly  here  and 
there  and  every  where,  then  return  home,  and  have 
nothing  to  tell,  but  that  he  has  been  here  and  there 
and  every  where  ?  'sdeath,  sir,  would  you  have  me 
travel  like  a  lord  ?  Travelling,  uncle,  was  always  in- 
tended for  improvement ;  and  improvement  is  an  ad- 
vantage ;  and  advantage  is  profit,  and  profit  is  gain. 
Which,  in  the  travelling  translation  of  a  trader,  means, 
that  you  should  gain  every  advantage  of  improving 
your  profit.  I  have  been  comparing  the  land,  here, 
with  that  of  our  own  country. 

Med.  And  you  find  it  like  a  good  deal  of  the  land 
of  our  own  country—cursedly  encumbered  with  black 
legs,  I  take  it. 

Inkle.  And  calculating  how  much  it  might  be  made 
to  produce  by  the  acre. 

Med.  You  were  ? 

Inkle.  Yes;  I  was  proceeding  algebraically  upon 
the  subject. 

Med.  Indeed  ! 

Inkle.  And  just  about  extracting  the  square  root. 

Med.  Hum! 

Inkle.  I  was  thinking  too,  if  so  many  natives  could 
be  caught,  how  much  they  might  fetch  at  the  West 
Indian  markets. 

Med.  Now  let  me  ask  you  a  question  or  two,  young 
cannibal  catcher,  if  you  please. 

Inkle.  Well. 

Med.  Aren't  we  bound  for  Barbadoes;  partly  to 
trade,  but  chiefly  \o  carry  home  the  daughter  of  the  go- 
vernor, Sir  Christopher  Curry,  who  has  till  now  been 
under  your  father's  care,  in  Threadneedle-street,  for 
polite  English  education. 

Inkle.  Granted. 

Me%  Ancj  isn't  it  determined,  between  the  old  folks;, 


scine  i.  ;       ,   AN  OPERA,  9 

that  you  are  to  marry  Narcisssa  as  soon  as  we  get  there  ? 

Inkle.  A  fixed  thing. 

Med.  Then  what  the  devil  do  you  do  here,  hunting 
old  hairy  negroes,  when  you  ought  to  be  ogling  a  fme 
girl  in  the  ship  ?  Algebra,  too  !  you'll  have  other  things 
to  think  of  when  you  are  married,  I  promise  you.  A 
plodding  fellow's  head,  in  the  hands  of  a  young  wife, 
like  a  boy's  slate  after  school,  soon  gets  all  its  arithme- 
tic wiped  off:  and  then  it  appears  in  its  true  simple 
state  ;  dark,  empty,  and  bound  in  wood,  Master  Inkle. 

Inkle.  Not  in  a  match  of  this  kind.  Why,  it's  a  ta- 
ble of  interest  from  beginning  to  end,  old  Medium. 

Med.  Well  well,  this  is  no  time  to  talk.  Who 
knows  but,  instead  of  sailing  to  a  wedding,  we  may 
get  cut  up,  here,  for  a  wedding  dinner  :  tossed  up  for  a 
dingy  duke  perhaps,  or  stewed  down  for  a  black  baro- 
net, or  eat  raw  by  an  inky  commoner  ? 

Inkle.  Why  sure,  you  aren't  afraid  ? 

Med  Who,  i  afraid  !  ha !  ha !  ha !  no,  not  I ! 
what  the  deuce  should  1  be  afraid  of?  thank  heaven,  I 
have  a  clear  conscience  and  need  not  be  afraid  of  any 
thing  A  sconndrel  might  not  be  quite  so  easy  on  such 
an  occasion  ;  bu'  it's  the  part  of  an  honest  man  not  to 
hehaye  like  a  scoundrel :  1  never  behaved  like  a  scoun- 
drel— for  which  reason  I  am  an  honest  man,  you  know. 
But  come — 1  hate  to  boast  of  my  good  qualities. 

Inkle.  Slow  and  sure,  my  good,  virtuous.  Mr.  Me- 
dium !  our  companions  can  be  but  half  a  mile  before 
us :  and,  if  we  do  but  double  their  steps,  we  shall 
overtake  'em  at  one  mile's  end,  by  all  the  powers  of 
arithmetic. 

Med.  Oh,  curse  your  arithmetic  !  how  are  we  to  find 
our  way  ? 

Inkle.  That,  uncle,  must  be  left  to  the  doctrine  of 
chances*  {exeunt 


10  INKLE  AND  YAHICO,  act.  i. 

SCENE   II.      ANOTHER  PART   OF  THE   FOREST. — A   SHIP  AT 
ANCHOR  IN  THE  BAY,  AT  A  SMALL  DISTANCE. 

Enter  Sailors  and  Mate,  as  returning  J rom  foraging. 

Mate.  Come,  come,  bear  a  hand,  my  lads.  Tho'f 
the  bay  is  just  under  our  bowsprits,  it  will  take  a 
damned  deal  of  tripping  to  come  at  it — there's  hardly 
any  steering  clear  of  the  rocks  here.  But  do  we  mus- 
ter all  hands?  all  rightt  think  ye? 

1st  Sail.  All  to  a  man — besides  yourself,  and  a  mon- 
key—the three  land  lubbers,  that  edged  away  in  the 
morning,  goes  for  nothing,  you  know — they're  all  dead 
may-hap,  by  this. 

Mate.  Dead  !  you  be — why,  they're  friends  of  the 
captain  ;  and,  if  not  brought  safe  aboard  to-night,  you 
may  all  chance  to  have  a  salt  eel  for  your  supper — that's 
all. — Moreover,  the  young  plodding  spark,  he  with  the 
grave,  foul-weather  face," there,  is  to  man  the  tight  lit- 
tle frigate,  Miss  Narcissa,  what  d'ye  call  her,  that  is 
bound  with  us  for  Barbadoes.  Rot  'em  for  not  keep- 
ing under  way,  1  say !  but  come,  let's  see  if  a  song 
will  bring  'em  too.  Let's  have  a  full  chorus  to  the 
good  merchant  ship,  the  Achilles,  that's  wrote  by  our 
Captain. 

The  Achilles,  though  christen'd  good  ship,  'tis  surmis'd, 
From  that  old  man  of  war,  great  Achilles,  so  priz'd, 
Was  he,  like  our  vessel,  pray,  fairly  babtiz'd  ? 

Ti  tol  lol,  fee- 
Poets  sung  that  Achilles — if  now,  they've  an  itch 
To  sing  this,  future  ages  may  know  which  is  which  ; 
And  that  one  rode  in  Greece — and  the  other  in  pitch. 

What  tho'  but  a  merchant  ship — sure  our  supplies : 
Now  your  men  of  war's  gain  in  a  lottery  lies, 


scene  u.  AN  OPERA.  il 

And  how  blank  they  all  look,  when  they  can't  get  3. 
prize ! 

What  are  all  their  line  names  ?  when  no  rhino's  behind, 
The  Intrepid,  and  Lion,  look  sheepish,  you'll  find  ; 
Whilst,  alas !  the  poor  JEolus  can't  raise  the  wind ! 

Then  the  Thunderer's  dumb ;  out  of  tune  the  Orpheus ; 

The  Ceres  has  nothing  at  all  to  produce; 

And  the  Eagle,  I  warrant  you,  looks  like  a  goose. 

But  we  merchant  lads,  tho'  the  foe  we  can't  maul, 
Nor  are  paid,  like  fine  king-ships,  to  fight  at  a  call, 
Why  we  pay  ourselves  well,  without  fighting  at  all. 

1st  Sail  Avast!  look  a-head  there.  Here  they  come, 
chased  by  a  fleet  of  black  devils. 

Midsh.  And  the  devil  a  fire  have  I  to  give  'em.  We 
han't  a  grain  of  powder  left.     What  must  we  do,  lad  ? 

2nd  Sail.  Do?  sheer  off,  to  be  sure. 

All.  Come,  bear  a  hand,  Master  Marlinspike  ! 

Midsh.  (reluctantly)  Well,  if  I  must,  I  must  (going 
to  the  other  side  and  hallooing  to  Inkle,  fyc.)  Yoho, 
lubbers  !  crowd  all  the  sail  you  can,  d'ye  mind  me !  [ex.. 

Enter  Medium,  running,  as  pursued  by  the  Blacks. 

Med.  Nephew  !  Trudge  !  run — scamper !  scour- 
fly  !  zounds,  what  harm  did  I  ever  do,  to  be  hunted  to 
death  by  a  pack  of  blood-hounds?  why,  nephew  !  Oh, 
confound  your  long  sums  in  arithmetic  !  I'll  take  care 
of  myself;  and  if  we  must  have  any  arithmetic,  dot  and 
carry  one  for  my  money.  [runs  qffl 

Enter  Inkle  and  Trudge,  hastily. 

Trudge.  Oh  !  that  ever  I  was  born,  to  leave  pen, 
ink,  and  powder,  for  this ! 

Inkle.  Trudge,  how  far  are  the  sailors  before  us? 

Trudge.  I'll  run  and  see,  sir,  directly. 

Inkle.  Blockhead,  come  here.  The  savages  are  close 
upon  us;  we  shall  scarce  be  able  to  recover  oui"  party, 


12  INKLE  AND  YARICO.  act  iv 

Get  behind  this  tuft  of  trees  with  me ;  they'll  pass  us, 
and  we  may  then  recover  our  ship  with  safety. 

Trudge,  {going  behind.)  Oh!  Threadneedle-street, 
Thread  !— 

Inkle.  Peace. 

Trudge,  {hiding.) — needle-street. 

[They  hide  behind  trees.     Natives  cross.     After 
a  long  pause.  Inkle  looks  from  the  trees. 

Inkle.  Trudge. 

Trudge.  Sir.  [in  a  whisper ', 

Inkle.  Are  they  all  gone  by  ? 

Trudge.  Won't  you  look  and  see? 

Inkle,  {looking  round.)  So,  all's  safe  at  last,  {coming 
forward.)  Nothing  like  policy  in  these  cases ;  but  you'd 
have  run  on,  like  a  booby  !  A  tree,  I  fancy,  you'll  find, 
in  future,  the  best  resource  in  a  hot  pursuit 

Trudge.  Oh,  charming !  It's  a  retreat  for  a  king,  .sir. 
Mr.  Medium,  however,  has  not  got  up  in  it ;  your  un- 
cle, sir,  has  run  on  like  a  booby;  and  has  got  up  with 
our  party  by  this  time,  1  take  it;  who  are  now  most 
likely  at  the  shore.     But  what  are  we  to  do  next,  sir  ? 

Inkle.  Reconnoitre  a  little,  and  then  proceed. 

Trudge.  Then  pray,  sir,  proceed  to  reconnoitre ;  for, 
the  sooner  the  better 

Inkle.  Then  look  out,  d'ye  hear,  and  tell  me  if  you 
discover  any  danger. 

Trudge.  Y — ye — s — yes ;  but —  [trembling. 

Inkle.  Well,  is  the  coast  clear  ? 

Trudge.  Eh  !  Oh  lord  ! — Clear  ?  {rubbing  his  eyes) 
Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  the  coast  will  soon  be  clear  enough 
now,  I  promise  you— the  ship  is  under  sail,  sir ! 

Inkle.  Confusion!  my  property  carried  off  in  the 
vessel. 

Trudge.  All,  all,  sir,  except  me. 

Inkle.  They  may  report  me  dead,  perhaps;  and 
dispose  of  my  property  at  the  next  island. 

[vessel  under  sail, 

Tn'.dge,  Ah!  there  they  go.     (a  gun  fired.)-—- 


scene  n.  AN  OPEftA.  13 

That  will  be  the  last  report  we  shall  ever  hear  from 
'em,  I'm  afraid. — That's  as  much  as  to  say,  good  by 
to  ye.  And  here  we  are  left — two  fine,  full-grown 
babes  in  the  wood .' 

Inkle.  What  an  ill-timed  accident !  just  too,  when 
my  speedy  union  with  Narcissa,  at  Barbadoes,  would 
so  much  advance  my  interests.  Something  must  be 
hit  upon,  and  speedily ;  but  what  resource  ? 

[thinking. 

Trudge.  The  old  one— a  tree,  sir — 'tis  all  we  have 
for  it  now.  What  would  NI  give,  now,  to  be  perched 
upon  a  high  stool,  with  our  brown  desk  squeezed  into 
the  pit  of  my  stomach — scribbling  away  an  old  parch- 
ment ! — But  all  my  red  ink  will  be  spilt  by  an  old  black 
pin  of  a  negro. 

A  voyage  over  seas  had  not  enter'd  my  head* 

Had  I  known  but  on  which  side  to  butter  my  bread. 

Heigho  !  sure  I — for  hunger  must  die ! 

I've  sail'd,  like  a  booby ;  come  here  in  a  squall, 

Where,  alas  !  there's  no  bread  to  be  butter-' d  at  all ! 

Oho !  I'm  a  terrible  booby ! 

Oh,  what  a  sad  booby  am  I ! 

In  London,  what  gay  chop-house  signs  in  the  street ! 
But  the  only  sign  here,  is  of  nothing  to  eat. 

Heigho  !  that  I for  hunger  should  die  ! 

My  mutton's  all  lost ;  I'm  a  poor  starving  elf; 
And  for  all  the  world  like  a  lost  mutton  myself 

Oho  !  I  shall  die  a  lost  mutton  ! 

Oh,  what  a  lost  mutton  am  I ! 

For  a  neat  slice  of*beef,  I  could  roar  like  a  bull; 
And  my  stomach's  so  empty,  my  heart  is  quite  full. 
Heigho  !  that  I— for  hunger  should  die  ! 
But  grave  without  meat,  I  must  here  meet  my  grave, 
For  my  bacon r  I  fancy*  I  never  shall  save, 


14  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  i. 

Oho !  I  shall  ne'er  save  my  bacon  ! 
I  can't  save  my  bacon,  not  I. ! 

Trudge.  Hum  !  I  was  thinking 1  was  thinking, 

sir — if  so  many  natives  could  be  caught,  how  much 
they  might  fetch  at  the  West  India  markets ! 

Inkle.  Scoundrel !  is  this  a  time  to  jest  ? 

Trudge.  No,  faith,  sir !  hunger  is  too  sharp  to  be 
jested  with.  As  for  me,  I  shall  starve  for  want  of  food. 
Now  you  may  meet  a  luckier  fate :  you  are  able  to  ex- 
tract the  square  root,  sir ;  and  that's  the  very  best  pro- 
vision you  can  find  here  to  live  upon.  But  I — [noise 
at  a  distance]  Mercy  on  us  !  here  they  come  again. 

Inkle.  Confusion  I  deserted  on  one  side,  and  pressed 
on  the  other,  which  way  shall  I  turn  ? — This  cavern 
may  prove  a  safe  retreat  to  us  for  the  present.  I'll  enter, 
cost  what  it  will. 

Trudge.  Oh!  Lord!  no,  don't,  don't — We  shall  pay 
too  dear  for  our  lodging,  depend  on't. 

Inkle.  This  is  no  time  for  debating.  You  are  at  the 
mouth  of  it :  lead  the  way,  Trudge. 

Trudge.  What !  go  in  before  your  honour  !  T  know 
my  place  better,  1  assure  you. — I  might  walk  into 
more  mouths  than  one,  perhaps.  [aside. 

Inkle.  Coward !  then  follow  me  [noise  again. 

Trudge.  I  must,  sir ;  I  must !  Ah  Trudge,  Trudge ! 
what  a  damned  hole  are  you  getting  into !         [exeunt. 


SCENE.  III. — A  CAVE,  DECORATED  WITH  SKINS  OF  WILD 
BEASTS,  FEATHERS,  &C  A  RUDE  KIND  OF  CURTAIN,  AS 
DOOR  TO  AN  INNER  PART. 

Knter  Inkle  and  Trudge,  from  the  mouth  of  the  cavern* 

Trudge.  Why,  sir!    you  must  be  mad  to  go  any 
farther. 
Jnkle.  So  far,  at.  least,  we  have  proceeded  with  safe* 


teas  in.  AN  OPERA.  15 

ty.  Ha !  no  bad  specimen  of  savage  elegance.  These 
ornaments  would  be  worth  something  in  England.-— 
We  have  little  to  fear  here,  I  hope  :  this  cave  rather 
bears  the  pleasing  face  of  a  profitable  adventure. 

Trudge.  Very  likely,  sir ;  but,  for  a  pleasing  face, 
it  has  the  cursed'st  ugly  mouth  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
Now  do,  sir,  make  off  as  fast  as  you  can.  If  we  once 
get  clear  of  the  natives'  houses,  we  have  little  to  fear 
from  the  lions  and  leopards ;  for,  by  the  appearance  of 
their  parlours,  they  seem  to  have  killed  all  the  wild 
beasts  in  the  countiy.  Now  pray,  do,  my  good  master, 
take  my  advice,  and  run  away. 

Inkle.  Rascal !  talk  again  of  going  out,  and  I'll  flea 
you  alive. 

Trudge.  That's  just  what  I  expect  for  coming  in. — - 
All  that  enter  here  appear  to  have  had  their  skin  stript 
over  their  ears }  and  ours  will  be  kept  forcuriosities-We 
shall  stand  here,  stuffed,  for  a  couple  of  white  wonders. 

Inkle.  This  curtain  seems  to  lead  to  another  apart- 
ment :  I'll  draw  it. 

Trudge.  No,  no,  no,  don't;  don't.  We  may  be 
called  to  account  for  disturbing  the  company :  you 
may  get  a  curtain  lecture,  perhaps,  sir. 

Inkle,  Peace,  booby,  and  stand  on  your  guard. 

Trudge.  Oh  !  what  will  become  of  us !  some  grim* 
seven-foot  fellow  ready  to  scalp  us. 

Inkle.  By  heaven  !  a  woman  ! 

[Yarico  and  JVowski  discovered  asleep. 

Trudge.  A  woman !  [aside] — [loud.]  But  let  him 
come  on ;  I'm  ready — dam'me,  I  don't  fear  facing  the 
devil  himself— Faith,  it  is  a  woman— fast  asleep,  too. 

Inkle.  And  beautiful  as  an  angel  ! 

Trudge.  And,  egad !  there  seems  to  be  a  nice,  little, 
plump,  bit  in  the  corner ;.  only  she's  an  angel  of  rather 
darker  sort. 

Inkle.  Hush  !  keep  back— she  wakes. 

[Yarico  comes  forward — Inkle  and  Trudge 
retire,  fcr  the  opposite  sides  of  the  scene. 


lb*  INKLE  AND  YARICO.  act  i. 

Yarico.  When  the  chase  of  day  is  done, 
And  the  shaggy  lion's  skin, 
Which,  for  us,  our  warriors  win, 
Decks  our  cells,  at  set  of  sun; 
Worn  with  toil,  with  sleep  opprest, 
J  press  my  mossy  bed,  and  sink  to  rest 

Then,  once  more,  I  see  our  train, 
With  all  our  chase  renew'd  again : 

Once  more,  'tis  day, 

Once  more,  our  prey 
Gnashes  his  angry  teeth,  and  foams  in  vain. 

Again,  in  sullen  haste,  he  flies, 

Ta'en  in  the  toil  again  he  lies, 
Again  he  roars — and,  in  my  slumbers,  dies. 

Inkle.  Our  language ! 

Trudge.  Zounds,  she  has  thrown  me  into  a  cold 
sweat. 

Yarico.  Hark  !  I  heard  a  noise !   Wowski,  awake  ! 
whence  can  it  it  proceed ! 

[She  wakes  Wowski,  and  they  both  come 

forward — Yarico  towards  Inkle  ; 

Wowski  towards  Truge. 

Yar.  Ah !  what  form  is  this  ? — are  you  a  man  ? 

Inkle.  True  flesh  and  blood,  my  charming  heathen, 
I  promise  you. 

Yar.  What  harmony  in  his  voice  !  what  a  shape  ! 
How  fair  his  skin  too  ! [gazing.] 

Trudge.  This  must  be  a  lady  of  quality,  by  her 
staring. 

Yar.  Say,  stranger,  whence  come  you? 

Inkle.  From  a  far  distant  island ;    driven  on  this 
coast  by  distress,  and  deserted  by  my  companions. 

Yar.  And  do  you  know  the  danger  that  surrounds 
you  here  ?  our  woods  are  filled  with  beasts  of  prey — 

my  countrymen,  too {yet,  I  think  they  could'nt 

find  the  heart)— might  kill  you. — —It  would  b-e  a 


sccNEHi.  AN  OPERA,  11 

pity  if  you  fell  in  their  way— I  think  I  should  weep 
if  you  came  to  any  harm. 

Trudge.  O  ho !  it's  time,  I  see,  to  begin  making  in- 
terest with  the  chambermaid.       [takes  VVowski  apart. 

Inkle.  How  wild  and  beautiful !  sure,  there's  magic 
in  her  shape,  and  she  has  rivetted  me  to  the  place. 
But  where  shall  I  look  for  safety?  let  me  fly,  and 
avoid  my  death. 

Yar.  Oh!    no — But [as  if  puzzled]  well  then, 

die  stranger,  but,  don't  depart. But  I  will  try  to 

preserve  you ;  and  if  you  are  killed,  Yarico  must  die 
too!  Yet,  'tis  I  alone  can  save  you:  your  death  is 
certain  without  my  assistance;  and  indeed,  indeed, 
you  shall  not  want  it. 

Inkle.  My  kind  Yarico  !  what  means,  then,  must  be 
used  for  my  safety  ? 

Yar.  My  cave  must  conceal  you :  none  enter  it, 
since  my  father  was  slain  in  battle.  I  will  bring  you 
food  by  day,  then  lead  you  to  our  unfrequented  groves, 
by  moonlight,  to  listen  to  the  nightengale.  If  you 
should  sleep,  I'll  watch  you,  and  wake  you  when 
there's  danger. 

Inkle.  Generous  maid  !  then,  to  you  I  will  owe  my 
life ;  and  whilst  it  lasts,  nothing  shall  part  us. 

Yar.  And  shan't  it,  shan't  it  it  indeed? 

Inkle.  No,  my  Yarico !  for,  when  an  opportunity 
offers  to  return  to  my  country,  you  shall  be  my  com- 
panion. 

Yar.  What !  cross  the  seas  ! 

Inkle.  Yes.  Help  me  to  discover  a  vessel,  and  you 
shall  enjoy  wonders — You  shall  be  decked  in  silks,  my 
brave  maid,  and  have  a  house  drawn  with  horses  to 
carry  you. 

Yar.  Nay,  do  not  laugh  at  me— but  is  it  so  ? 

Inkle.  It  is,  indeed  ! 

Yar.  Oh,  wonder  !  I  wish  my  countrywomen  could 
see  me But  won't  your  warriors  kill  us  ? 

Inkle,  No,  our  only  dangerf  on  land,  is  hem. 


IB  INKLE  AND  YARICO,    .  acti. 

Yar.  Then  let  us  retire  further  into  the  cave.  Come 
«—your  safety  is  in  my  keeping. 

Inkle.  I  follow  you — Yet,  can  you  run  some  risque 
in  following  me  ? 

duet.   , 
Inkle.  O  say,  simple  maid,  have  you  form'd  any  notion 
Of  all  the  rude  dangers  in  crossing  the  ocean  ? 
When  winds  whistle  shrilly,  ah !  won't  they  re- 
mind you, 
To  sigh,   with  regret,  for  the  grot  left  behind 
you  ? 
Yar.     Ah  !  no,  1  could  follow,  and  sail  the  world  over, 
Nor  think  of  my  grot,  when  1  look  at  my  lover ! 
The  winds  which  blow  round  us,  your  arms  for 

my  pillow, 
Will  lull  us  to  sleep,  whilst  we'er  rock'd  by  each 
billow. 
Both.  O  say  then,  my  true  love,  we  never  will  sunder, 
Nor  shrink  from  the  tempest,  nor  dread  the  big 

thunder : 
While  constant,  we'll  laugh  at  all  changes  of 

weather, 
And  journey,  all  over  the  world,  both  together. 

Trudge.  Why,  you  speak  English  as  well  as  I,  my 
little  Wrowski. 

Wows.  Iss. 

Trudge.  Iss !  and  you  learnt  it  from  a  strange  man, 
that  tumbled  from  a  big  boat,  many  moons  ago,  you 
say! 

Wows.  Iss — teach  me — teach  good  many. 

Trudge.  Then,  what  the  devil  made  'em  so  surpris'd 
at  seeing  us!  was  he  like  me?  [Wowski  shakes  her 
head]  Not  so  smart  a  body,  may  hap.  Was  his  face, 
now,  round,  and  comely,  and — eh !  [stroking  his  chin] 
Was  it  like  mine  ? 

Wows.  Like  dead  leaf — brown  and  shrivel. 

Trudge,  Oh,  oh.  an  old  shipwrecked  sailor,  I  war- 


scene  m.  AN  OPERA.  19 

rant.    With  white  and  grey  hair,  eh,  my  pretty  beauty 
spot? 

'   VFows.  Iss;    all  white.     When  night  come,. he  put 
it  in  pocket. 

Trudge.  Oh  !  wore  a  wig.  But  the  old  boy  taught 
you  something  more  than  English,  I  believe. 

Wows.  Iss. 

Trudge.  The  devil  he  did !  What  was  it? 

TVov)s.  Teach  me  put  dry  grass,  red  hot,  in  hollow 
white  stick. 

Trudge.  Aye,  what  was  that  for? 

Wows.  Put  in  my  mouth — go  poff,  poff. 

Trudge.  Zounds!  did  he  teach  you  to  smoke  ? 

Wows.  Iss. 

Trudge.  And  what  became  of  him  at  last?  What 
did  your  countrymen  do  for  the  poor  fellow  ? 

Wows.  Eat  him  one  day — Our  chief  kill  him. 

Trudge.  Mercy  on  us  !  what  damned  stomachs,  to 
swallow  a  tough  old  tar!  though,  tor  the  matter  of 
that,  there's  many  of  our  captains  would  eat  all  they 
kill,  I  believe  !  Ah,  poor  Trudge!  your  killing  comes 
next. 

Woivs.     No,  no — not  you — no — [running  to  him 

anxiously. 

Trudge.  No  ?  why  what  shall  I  do,  if  I  get  in  their 
paws? 

Wows.  I  fight  for  you  ! 

Trudge.  Will  you  ?  ecod  she's  a  brave,  good-natur- 
ed wench !  she'll  be  worth  a  hundred  of  your  English 
wives — Whenever  they  fight  on  their  husband's  ac- 
count, its  with  him,  instead  of  for  him,  I  fancy.  But 
how  the  plague  am  I  to  live  here  ! 

Wows.  I  feed  you — bring  you  kid. 

White  man,  never  go  away— 

Tell  me  why  need  you  ? 
Stay,  with  your  Wowski,  stay : 

Wowski  will  feed  voik 


20  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  & 

Cold  moons  are  now  coming  in : 

Ah  don't  go  grieve  me  ! 
I'll  wrap  you  in  leopard's  skin: 

White  man,  don't  leave  me. 

And  when  all  the  sky  is  blue, 

Sun  makes  warm  weather, 
I'll  catch  you  a  cockatoo, 

Dress  you  in  feather. 
When  cold  comes,  or  when  'tis  hot, 

Ah  don't  go  grieve  me.    ' 
Poor  Wowski  will  be  forgot 

White  man,  don't  leave  me. 

Trudge.  Zounds !  leopard's  skin  for  winter  wear, 
and  feathers  for  a  summer's  suit !  Ha !  ha !  I  shall 
look  like  a  walking  hammer-cloth,  at  Christmas,  and 
an  upright  shuttle  cock,  in  the  dog-days.  And  for  all 
this,  if  my  master  and  I  find  our  way  to  England,  you 
shall  be  part  of  our  traveliling  equipage  ;  and,  when  I 
get  there,  I'll  give  you  a  couple  of  snug  rooms,  on  a 
first  floor,  and  visit  you  every  evening  as  soon  as  I 
come  from  the  counting  house.     Do  you  like  it  ? 

Wows.  Iss. 

Trudge.  Damme,  what  a  flashy  fellow  I  shall  seem 
in  the  city  !  I'll  get  her  a  white  boy  to  bring  up  the 
tea-kettle.  Then  I'll  teach  you  to  write,  and  dress 
hair 

Wows.  You  great  man  in  your  country  ? 

Truge.  Oh  yes,  a  very  great  man.  I'm  head  clerk 
of  the  counting-house,  and  first  valet-de-chambre  of 
the  dressing-room.  I  pounce  parchments,  powder 
hair,  black  shoes,  ink  paper,  shave  beards,  and  mend 
pens.  But  hold;  I  had  forgot  one  material  point — 
you  arn't  married,  I  hope  ? 

Wows.  No :   you  be  my  chum-chum  ! 

Trudge.  So  I  will.  It's  best  however,  to  be  sure  of 
her  being  single ;  for  Indian  husbands  are  not  quite 


A- 


AN  OPERA. 


21 


so  complaisant  as  English  ones— and  the  'vulgar 
dogs  might  think  of  looking  a  little  after  their  spouses. 
Well,  as  my  master  seems  king  of  this  palace,  and  has 
taken  his  Indian  queen  already,  I'll  e'en  be  usher  of 
the  black  rod  here.  But  you  have  had  a  lover  or  two 
in  your  time :  eh,  Wowski  ? 

Wows.  Oh  iss — great  many— X  tell  you. 


DUET. 

JVows.  Wampum,  Swampum,  Yanko,  Lanko,  Nankos 
Pownatowski, 

Black  men — plenty — twenty — fight  for  me, 

White  man,  woo  you  true  ? 
Trudge.    Who  ? 
Wows.      You. 

Trudge.     Yes,  pretty  little  Wowski ! 
Wows.      Then,  I'll  leave  all  and  follow  thee. 
Trudge.    O  then  turn  about,  my  little  tawny  tight 

Don't  you  like  me  ?  [one  \ 

Wows.      Iss,  you're  like  the  snow  ! 

If  you  slight  one.- - 

Trudge.    Never,  not  for  any  white  one  : 

You  are  beautiful  as  any  sloe. 
Wows.      War,  jars,  scars,  can't  expose  ye, 

In  our  grot 

Trudge.     So  snug  and  cosey  ! 
Wovjs.      Flowers  neatly 

Pick'd  shall  sweetly 

Make  your  bed. 
Trudge.     Coying,  toying, 

With  a  rosy  posey, 

When  I'm  dosey, 

Bear-skin  night-caps,  too,   shall  warm  my 
head, 
Both.        Bear-skin  night-caps,  &c.  &q,  [Exeunt, 


22.  INKLE  AM)  YAJUCO,  act  h 

;   ACT  THE  SECOND, 

SCENE  I. 

THE   QUAY  AT   BARB  ADO  ES. 

Enter  several  Planters. 

1st  Plant.  I  saw  her  this  morning,  gentlemen,  you 
may  depend  on't.  My  telescope  never  fails  me.  I 
popp'd  upon  her  as  I  was  taking  a  peep  from  my  bal- 
cony. A  brave  tight  ship,  1  teli  you,  bearing  down  di- 
rectly for  Barbadoes  here. 

2d  Plant  Ods  my  life !  rare  news  !  We  have  not 
had  a  vessel  arrive  in  our  harbour  these  six  weeks. 

3d  Plant.  And  the  last  brought  only  madam  Nar- 
cissa,  our  Governor's  daughter,  from  England  ;  with 
a  parcel  of  lazy,  idle,  white  folks  about  her.  Such 
cargoes  will  never  do  for  our  trade,  neighbour. 

4th  Plant.  No,  no  :  we  want  slaves.  A  terrible 
dearth  of 'em  in  Barbadoes,  lately  !  but  your  dingy 
passengers  for  my  money.  Give  me  a  vessel  like  a 
collier,  where  all  the  lading  tumbles  out  as  black  as 
my  hat.    But  are  you  sure,  now,  you  aren't  mistaken  ? 

[to  1st  Planter. 

1st  Plant  Mistaken  !  'sbud,  do  you  doubt  my  glass  ? 
I  can  discover  a  gull  by  by  it  six  leagues  off  :  I  could 
see  every  thing  as  plain  as  iff  was  on  board. 

2d  Plant.  Indeed!  and  what  were  her  colours? 

1st  Plant  Um  !    why  English or  Dutch— — or 

French 1  don't  exactly  remember. 

3d  Plant.  What  were  the  sailors  aboard  ? 

1st  Plant.  Eh  !  why  they  were  English  too -or 

Dutch— or  French-  I  can't  perfectly  recollect, 


scene  i.  AN  OPERA.  23 

Ath  Plant.  Your  glass,  neighbour,  is  a  little  like  a 
glass  too  much  :  it  makes  you  forget  every  thing  yois 
ought  to  remember.         [Ct^y  without,  A  sail  !  A  sail! 

1st  Plant.  Egad,  but  I'm  right  tho\  Now,  gentle- 
men ! 

All.  Aye,  aye  ;  the  devil  take  the  hindmost. 

[Exit,  hastily* 

Enter  Narcissa  and  Patty. 

JSTar.  Freshly  now  the  breeze  is  blowing  ; 

As  yon  ship  at  anchor  rides, 
Sullen  waves,  incessant  flowing, 

Rudely  dash  against  the  sides  : 
So  my  heart,  its  course  impeded, 

Beats  in  my  purturbed  breast : 
Doubts,  like  waves  by  waves  succeeded, 

Rise,  and  still  deny  it  rest. 

Patty.  Well,  ma'am,  as  I  was  saying 

Nar.  Well,  say  no  more  of  what  you  were  saying — 
Sure,  Patty,  you  forget  where  you  are  :  a  little  caution 
will  be  necessary  now,  I  think. 

Patty.  Lord,  madam,  how  is  it  possible  to  help  talk- 
ing ?  We  are  in  Barbadoes,  here,  to  be  sure — but  then, 
ma'am,  one  may  let  out  a  little  in  a  private  morning's 
walk  by  ourselves. 

JsTar.  Nay,  it's  the  same  thing  with  you  in-doors. 

Patty.  1  never  blab,  ma'am,  never,  as  I  hope  for  a 
gown. 

JVar.  And  your  never  blabbing,  as  you  call  it,  de- 
pends chiefly  on  that  hope,  I  believe.  The  unlocking 
my  chest,  locks  up  all  your  faculties.  An  old  silk 
gown  makes  you  turn  your  back  on  all  my  secrets ;  a 
large  bonnet  blinds  your  eyes  ;  and  a  fashionable  high 
handkerchief  covers  your  ears,  and  stops  your  mouth 
at  once,  Patty. 

Patty.  Dear  ma'am,  how  can  you  think  a  body  so 


24  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  o. 

mercenary !  am  I  always  teazing  you  about  gowns  and 
gew-gaws,  a^id  fal-lals  and  finery  ?  Or  do  you  take  me 
lor  a  conjuror,  that  nothing  will  come  out  of  my  mouth 
but  ribbons  ?  I  have  told  the  story  of  our  voyage,  in- 
deed, to  old  Guzzle,  the  butler,  who  is  very  inquisi- 
tive ;  and,  between  ourselves,  is  the  ugliest  old  quiz  I 
ever  saw  in  my  life. 

JYar.  Well,  well,  I  have  seen  him  ;  pitted  with  the 
small  pox,  and  a  red  face. 

Patty.  Right,  ma'am.  It's  for  all  the  world  like  his 
master's  cellar,  full  of  holes  and  liquor.  Rut  when  he 
asks  me  what  you  and  I  think  of  the  matter,  why  I 
look  wise,  and  cry,  like  other  wise  people  who  have 
nothing  to  say — All's  for  the  best. 

JYar.  And,  thus,  you  lead  him  to  imagine  I  am  but 
little  inclined  to  the  match. 

Patty.  Lord,  ma'am,  how  could  that  be  ?  Why,  I 
never  said  a  word  about  Captain  Campley. 

JYar.  Hush  !  hush,  for  heaven's  sake. 

Patty.  Ay,  there  it  is  now. — There,  ma'am,  I'm  as 
mute  as  a  mackarel — That  name  strikes  me  dumb  in  a 
moment.  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  Captain  Camp- 
ley  some  how  or  other  has  the  knack  of  stopping  my 
mouth  oftener  than  any  body  else,  ma'am. 

Mar.  His  name  again  ! — Consider. — Never  mention 
it ;   I  desire  you. 

Patty.  Not  I,  ma'am,  not  I.  Rut,  if  our  voyage  from 
England  was  so  pleasant,  it  was'nt  owing  to  Mr  Inkle, 
I'm  certain.  He  didn't  play  the  fiddle  in  our  cabin, 
and  dance  on  the  deck,  and  come  languishing  with  a 
glass  of  warm  water  in  his  hand,  when  we  were  sea- 
sick. Ah,  ma'am,  that  water  warm'd  your  heart,  I'm 
confident.    Mr.  Inkle  ;  no,  no  !  Captain  Cam 

JYar.  There  is  no  end  to  this !  Remember,  Patty, 
keep  your  secrecy,  or  you  entirely  lose  my  favour. 

Patty.  Never  fear  me,  ma'am.  Rut  if  somebody  1 
know  is  not  acquainted  with  the  governor,  there's  such 
a  thing  as  dancing  at  bolls,  and  squeezing  hands  when 


scene  i.  AN  OPERA.  25 

you  lead  up,  and  squeezing  them  again  when  you  cast 
down,  and  walking  on  the  quay  in  a  morning.  Oh, 
I  won't  utter  a  syllable,  {archly.)  But  remember,  I'm 
as  close  as  a  patch-box.  Mum's  the  word,  ma'am,  I 
promise  you. 

This  maxim  let  ev'ry  one  hear, 

Proclaim'd  from  the  north  to  the  south ; 
Whatever  comes  in  at  your  ear, 

Should  never  run  out  at  your  mouth. 
We  servants,  like  servants  of  state, 

Should  listen  to  all,  and  be  dumb ; 
Let  others  harangue  and  debate, 

We  look  wise — shake  our  heads, — and  are  mum. 

The  judge  in  dull  dignity  drest, 

In  silence  hears  barristers  preach ; 
And  then,  to  prove  silence  is  best, 

He'll  get  up,  and  give  them  a  speech. 
By  saying  but  little,  the  maid 

Will  keep  her  swain  under  her  thumb ; 
And  the  lover  that's  true  to  his  trade, 

Is  certain  to  kiss,  and  cry  mum.  [exit. 

Nar.  How  awkward  is  my  present  situation !  pro- 
mised to  one,  who,  perhaps,  may  never  again  be  heard 
of ;  and  who,  I  am  sure,  if  he  ever  appears  to  claim 
me,  will  do  it  merely  on  the  score  of  interest — pressed 
too  by  another,  who  has  already,  I  fear,  too  much  in- 
terest in  my  heart— what  can  I  do?  What  plan  can  I 
follow  ? 

Enter  Campley. 

Camp.  Follow  my  advice,  Narcissa,  by  all  means. 
Enlist  with  me,  under  the  best  banners  in  the  world. 
General  Hymen  for  my  money  !  little  Cupid's  his 
drummer :  he  has  been  beating  a  round  rub-a-dub  on 
our  hearts,  and  we  have  only  to  obey  the  word  of  com- 


Is  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  n. 

mand,  fall  into  the  ranks  of  matrimony,  and  march 
through  life  together. 

JVar.  Then  consider  our  situation. 

Camp.  That  has-been  duly  considered.  In  short, 
the  case  stands  exactly  thus — your  intended  spouse  is 
all  for  money  :  I  am  all  for  love :  he  is  a  rich  rogue : 
I  am  rather  a  poor  honest  fellow.  He  would  pocket 
your  fortune;  I  will  take  you  without  a  fortune  in 
your  pocket. 

JVar.  Oh  !  I  am  sensible  of  the  favour,  most  gallant 
Captain  Campley ;  and  my  father,  no  doubt,  will  be 
very  much  obliged  to  you. 

Camp.  Aye,  there's  the  devil  of  it !  Sir  Christopher 
Curry's  confounded  good  character — knocks  me  up  at 
once.  Yet  I  am  not  acquainted  with  him,  neither; 
not  known  to  him,  even  by  sight;  being  here  only  as 
a  private  gentleman  on  a  visit  to  my  old  relation,  out 
of  regimentals,  and  so  forth ;  and  not  introduced  to 
the  Governor  as  other  officers  of  the  place  :  but  then 
the  report  of  his  hospitality — his  odd,  blunt,  whimsical, 
friendship — his  whole  behaviour 

JVar.  All  stare  you  in  the  face,  eh,  Campley  ? 

Camp.  They  do,  till  they  put  me  out  of  counte- 
nance :  but  then  again,  when  I  stare  you  in  the  face, 
I  can't  think  I  have  any  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  my 
proceedings — I  stick  here,  between  my  love  and  my 
principle,  like  a  song  between  a  toast  and  a  sentiment. 

JVar.  And,  if  your  love  and  your  principle  were  put 
in  the  scales,  you  doubt  which  would  weigh  most  ? 

Camp.  Oh,  no !  I  should  act  like  a  rogue,  and  let 
principle  kick  the  beam :  for  love,  Narcissa,  is  as  heavy 
a£  lead,  and,  like  a  bullet  from  a  pistol,  could  never 
go  through  the  heart,  if  it  wanted  weight. 

JVar.  Or  rather  like  the  pistol  itself,  that  often  goes 
off  without  any  harm  done.  Your  fire  must  end  in 
smoke,  I  believe. 

Camp.  Never,  whilst — — 

JVar.  Nay,  a  truce  to  protestations  at  present.   What 


ssejje  t.  AN  OPERA,  %! 

signifies  talking  to  me,  when  you  have  such  opposition 
from  others  ?  Why  hover  about  the  city,  instead  of 
boldly  attacking  the  guard  ?  Wheel  about,  captain ! 
face  the  enemy !  march!  charge!  rout 'em— Drive 'em 
before  you,  and  then— 

Camp.  And  then — 

JYar.  Lud  have  mercy  on  the  poor  city ! 

Ma»s  would  oft,  his  conquest  over, 

To  the  Cyprian  goddess  yield  ; 
Venus  gloried  in  a  lover, 

Who,  like  him,  could  brave  the  field. 

Mars  would  oft,  &c. 

In  the  cause  of  battles  hearty, 

Still  the  God  would  strive  to  prove, 

He,  who  fac'd  an  adverse  party, 
Fittest  was  to  meet  his  love. 

Hear  then,  captains,  ye  who  bluster, 

Hear  the  God  of  war  declare, 
Cowards  never  can  pass  muster ; 

Courage  only  wins  the  fair.  . 

Enter  Patty,  hastily. 
Patty.  Oh,  lud,  ma'am,  I'm  frightened  out  of  my 
wits !  sure  as  I'm  alive,  ma'am,  Mr.  Inkle  is  not  dead ; 
I  saw  his  man,  ma'am,  just  now,  coming  ashore  in  a 
boat  with  other  passengers,  from  the  vessel  that's  come 
to  the  island.  [exit. 

Nar.  (to  Camp.)  Look'ye,  Mr.  Campley,  something 
has  happened  which  makes  me  waive  ceremonies. — If 
you  mean  to  apply  to  my  father,  remember  that  delays 
are  dangerous. 

Camp.  Indeed ! 

JSTar.  I  may'nt  be  always  in  the  same  mind,  you 
know.  [smiling. 

Camp.  Nay,  then— Gad,  I'm  almost  afraid  too— but 


28  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  n. 

living  in  this  state  of  doubt  is  torment.  I'll  e'en  put 
a  good  face  on  the  matter ;  cock  my  hat ;  make  my 
bow ;  and  try  to  reason  the  Governor  into  compliance. 
Faint  heart  never  won  a  fair  lady. 

Why  should  I  vain  fears  discover, 

Prove  a  dying,  sighing  swain  ? 
Why  turn  shilly-shally  lover, 

Only  to  prolong  my  pain  ? 

When  we  woo  the  dear  enslaver, 

Boldly  ask,  and  she  will  grant ; 
How  should  we  obtain  a  favour, 

But  by  telling  what  we  want? 

Should  the  nymph  be  found  complying, 

Nearly  then  the  battle's  won ; 
Parent's  think  'tis  vain  denying, 

WThen  half  the  work  is  fairly  done,     [exeunt. 

Enter  Trudge  and  TVoivski,  as  from  ike  ship  ;  with  a 
dirty  Runner  from  one  of  the  inns. 

Run.  This  way,  sir;  if  you  will  let  me  recom- 
mend  

Trudge.  Come  along,  Wows !  Take  care  of  j'our 
furs,  and  your  feathers,  my  girl. 

Wows.  Iss. . 

Trudge.  That's  right. — Somebody  might  steal  'era, 
perhaps. 

Wows.  Steal  .'—What  that  ? 

Trudge.  Oh,  lord  !  see  what  one  loses  by  not  being 
born  in  a  Christian  country. 

Run.  Tf  you  would,  sir,  but  mention  to  your  master, 
the  house  that  belongs  to  my  master  ;  the  best  accom- 
modations on  the  quay. — • 

Trudge.  What's  your  sign,  my  lad  ? 

Run.  The  Crown,  sir — Here  it  is. 

Trudge,  Well,  get  us  a  room  for  half  an  hour,  and 


gams  i.  AN  OPERA.  W 

we'll  come :  and  hark'ee !  let  it  be  light  and  airy,  d'ye 
hear  ?  My  master  has  been  used  to  your  open  apart- 
ments lately. 

Run.  Depend  on  it. — Much  obliged  to  you,  sir.  [exit. 

Woivs.  Who  be  that  fine  man  ?     He  great  prince? 

Trudge.  A  prince — Ha  !  ha  ! — No,  not  quite  a 
prince— but  he  belongs  to  the  crown.  But  how  do 
you  like  this,  Wows  ?    Isn't  it  fine  ? 

Wows.  Wonder ! 

Trudge.  Fine  men,  eh  I 

Wows.  Iss  !  all  white  ;  like  you. 

Trudge.  Yes,  all  the  fine  men  are  like  me :  as  dif- 
ferent from  your  people  as  powder  and  ink,  or  paper 
and  blacking. 

Wows.  And  fine  lady — Face  like  snow. 

Trudge.  What !  the  fine  ladie's  complexions  ?  Oh, 
yes,  exactly;  for  too  much  heat  very  often  dissolves 
'em !     Then  their  dress,  too. 

Wows.  Your  countrymen  dress  so  ? 

Trudge.  Better,  better,  a  great  deal.  Why,  a  young 
flashy  Englishman  will  sometimes  carry  a  whole  for- 
tune on  his  back.  But  did  you  mind  the  women  ?  All 
here; — and  there ;  {pointing  before  and  behind)  they 
have  it  all  from  us  in  England.  And  then  the  fine 
things  they  carry  on  their  heads,  Wowski. 

Wows.  Tss.  One  lady  carry  good  fish — so  fine,  she 
call  every  body  to  look  at  her. 

Trudge.  Pshaw  !  an  old  woman  bawling  flounders. 
But  the  fine  girls  we  meet,  here,  on  the  quay — so  round, 
and  so  plump ! 

Wows.  You  not  love  me  now. 

Trudge.  Not  love  you !  Zounds,  have  not  I  given 
you  proofs  ? 

Wows.  Iss.  Great  many:  but  now  you  get  here, 
you  forget  poor  Wowski ! 

Trudge.  Not  I ;  I'll  stick  to  you  like  wax. 

Wows.  Ah,  I  fear !  What  make  you  love  me  now  ? 

Trudge,  Gratitude,  to  be  sUTe> 


30  iNKL£  AND  YARICO,  act  it. 

Wows.  What  that? 

Trudge.  Ha !  this  it  is,  now,  to  live  without  educa- 
tion. The  poor  dull  devils  of  her  country  are  all  in 
the  practice  of  gratitude,  without  finding  out  what  it 
means;  while  we  can  tell  the  meaning  of  it,  with  little 
or  no  practice  at  all.  Lord,  lord,  what  a  fine  advan- 
tage Christian  learning  is !  Hark'ee,  Wows ! 

Wows  Iss. 

Trudge.  Now  we've  accomplished  our  landing,  1*11 
accomplish  you,  You  remember  the  instructions  I 
gave  you  on  the  voyage  ? 

Wows.  Iss. 

Trudge.  Let's  see  now — What  are  you  to  do,  when 
I  introduce  you  to  the  nobility,  gentry,  and  others — 
of  my  acquaintance  ? 

Wows.  Make  believe  sit  down  ;  then  get  up. 

Trudge*  Let  me  see  you  do  it.  (she  makes  a  low  cur- 
tesy) Very  well !  And  how  are  you  to  recommend 
yourself,  when  you  have  nothing  to  say,  amongst  all 
our  great  friends  ? 

Wows.  Grin — shew  my  teeth. 

Trudge.  Right !  they'll  think  you  lived  with  people 
of  fashion.  But  suppose  you  meet  an  old  shabby 
friend  in  misfortune,  that  you  don't  wish  to  be  seen  to 
speak  to — what  would  you  do  ? 

Wows.  Look  blind — not  see  him. 

Trudge.  WThy  would  you  do  that  ? 

Wows.  'Cause  I  can't  see  good  friend  in  distress. 

Trudge.  That's  a  good  girl !  and  I  wish  every  body 
could  boast  of  so  kind  a  motive,  for  such  cursed  cruel 
behaviour.  Lord  !  how  some  of  your  flashy  banker's 
clerks  have  cut  me  in  Threadneedle  street.  But 
come,  though  we  have  got  among  fine  folks,  here,  in 
an  English  settlement,  I  won't  be  ashamed  of  my  old 
acquaintance :  yet,  for  my  own  part,  I  should  not  be 
sorry,  now,  to  see  my  old  friend  with  a  new  face. 
Odsbobs!  I  see  Mr.  Inkle—Go  in.  Wows:  call  for 
what  you  like  best. 


scene  i.  AN  OPERA,.  31 

Wows.  Then,  I  call  for  you    ah !  1  fear  I  not  see 
you  often  now.    But  you  come  soon- 
Remember  when  we  walk'd  alone, 

And  heard,  so  gruff,  the  lion  growl ; 
And  when  the  moon  so  bright  it  shone, 
We  saw  the  wolf  look  up  and  howl ; 
I  led  you  well,  safe  to  our  cell, 

While,  tremblingly, 
You  said  to  me, 
—And  kiss'd  so  sweet — dear  Wowski  tell, 

How  could  I  live  without  ye  ? 

But  now  you  come  across  the  sea, 

And  tell  me  here  no  monsters  roar ; 
You'll  walk  alone  and  leave  poor  me, 

When  wolves  to  fright  you  howl  no  more. 
But  ah  !  think  well  on  our  old  cell, 

Where,  tremblingly, 
You  kiss'd  poor  me — - 
Perhaps,  you'll  say — dear  Wowski  tell, 

How  can  I  live  without  ye  ?     [exit 

Trudge.  Eh  !  oh !  my  master's  talking  to  somebody 
on  the  quay.    Who  have  we  here  ! 
Enter  First  Planter. 

Plant.  Hark'ee,  young  man  !  Is  that  young  Indian 
of  your's  going  to  our  market  ? 

Trudge.  Not  she— she  never  went  to  market  in  all 
her  life. 

Plant.  I  mean,  is  she  for  our  sale  of  slaves  ?    Our 
Black  Fair? 

Trudge.  A  black  fair !  ha,  ha,  ha!  You  hold  it  on 
a  brown  green,  I  suppose. 

Plant.  She's  your  slave,  I  take  it  ? 

Trudge.  Yes;  and  I'm  her  humble  servant,  I  take  it. 

Plant.  Aye,  aye,  natural  enough  at  sea,    But  *t 
how  much  do  vou  value  her  ? 


32  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  n. 

Trudge.  Just  as  much  as  she  has  saved  me— My 
own  life. 

Plant.  Pshaw !  you  mean  to  sell  her ! 

Trudge,  {staring,)  Zounds !  what  a  devil  of  a  fel- 
low !  Sell  Wows !    my  poor,  dear,  dingy  wife ! 

Plant.  Come,  come,  I've  heard  your  story  from  the 
ship.  Don't  let's  haggle  ;  I'll  bid  as  fair  as  any  trader 
amongst  us:  but  no  tricks  upon  travellers,  young  man, 
to  raise  your  price.  Your  wife,  indeed  !  Why  she's 
no  Christian  ? 

Trudge.  No :  but  I  am ;  so  I  shall  do  as  I'd  be  done 
by,  Master  Black-market :  and,  if  you  were  a  good 
one  yourself,  you'd  know,  that  fellow-feeling  for  a  poor 
body,  who  wants  your  help,  is  the  noblest  mark  of  our 
religion.  I  would'nt  be  articled  clerk  to  such  a  fellow 
for  the  world. 

Plant  Hey-dey !  The  booby's  in  love  with  her ! 
Why,  sure,  friend,  you  would  not  live  here  with  a 
black  ? 

Trudge.  Plague  on't ;  there  it  is.  I  shall  be  laughed 
out  of  my  honesty,  here. — But  you  may  be  jogging, 
friend  ;  I  may  feel  a  little  queer,  perhaps,  at  showing 
her  face— but,  dam'me,  if  ever  I  do  any  thing  to  make 
me  ashamed  of  showing  my  own. 

Plant.  Why,  I  tell  you,  her  very  complexion ■ 

Trudge.  Rot  her  complexion.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Mr.  Fair-trader ;  if  your  head  and  heart  were  to 
change  places,  I've  a  notion  you'd  be  as  black  in  the 
face  as  an  ink-bottle. 

Plant.  Pshaw  !  The  fellow's  a  fool — a  rude  rascal — 
he  ought  to  be  sent  back  to  the  savages,  again  He's 
not  fit  to  live  among  us  Christians.  [exit. 

Trudge.  Oh,  here  he  is  at  last. 

Enter  Inkle  and  a  second  Planter. 

Inkle.  Nay,  sir,  I  understand  your  customs  well : 
your  Indian  markets  are  not  unknown  to  me. 

2  Plant.  And,  as  you  seem  to  understand  business, 
I  need  not  tell  you  that  despatch  is  the  soul  of  it.  Her 
name  you  say  is— 


scem;  i.  AN  OPERA.  38 

Inkle.  Yarico  :  but  urge  this  no  more,  I  beg  you.  I 
must  not  listen  to  it :  for  to  speak  freely,  her  anxious 
care  of  me  demands,  that  here, — though  here  it  may 
seem  strange — I  should  avow  my  love  for  her. 

Plant.  Lord  help  you  for  a  merchant  ! — It's  the  first 
time  I  ever  heard  a  trader  talk  of  love  ;  except,  indeed, 
the  love  of  trade,  and  the  love  of  the  Sweet  Molly,  my 
ship. 

Inkle.  Then,  sir,  you  cannot  feel  my  situation. 

Plant.  Oh  yes,  I  can!  We  have  a  hundred  such 
eases  just  after  a  voyage  ;  but  they  never  last  long  on 
land.  It's  amazing  how  constant  a  young  man  is  in  a 
ship !  But,  in  two  words,  will  you  dispose  of  her, 
or  no  ? 

Inkle.  In  two  words  then,  meet  me  here  at  noon, 
and  we'll  speak  further  on  this  subject ;  and  lest  you 
think  I  trifle  with  your  business,  hear  why  I  wish  this 
pause.  Chance  threw  me,  on  my  passage  to  your  isl- 
and, among  a  savage  people.  Deserted, — defenceless, 
— cut  off  from  my  companions, — my  life  at  stake — to 
this  young  creature  I  owe  my  preservation ;  she  found 
me,  like  a  dying  bough,  torn  from  its  kindred  branches  ; 
which,  as  it  dropped,  she  moistened  with  her  tears. 

Plant.  Nay,  nay,  talk  like  a  man  of  this  world. 

Inkle.  Your  patience.  And  yet  your  interruption 
goes  to  my  present  feelings  ;  for  on  our  sail  to  this  your 
island — the  thoughts  of  time  mispent — doubt — fears — 
for  call  it  what  you  will — have  much  perplex'd  me  ; 
and  as  your  spires  arose,  reflections  still  rose  with  them ; 
for  here,  sir,  lie  my  interests,  great  connections,  and 
other  weightymatters — which  now  I  need  not  mention. 

Plant.  But  which  her  presence  hear  will  mar. 

Inkle.  Even  so — And  yet  the  gratitude  I  owe  her? 

Plant.  Pshaw  !  So  because  she  preserved  your  life, 
your  gratitude  is  to  make  you  give  up  all  you  have  to 
live  upon. 

Inkle.  Why  in  that  light  indeed— This  never  struck 
me  vet,  I'll  think  on't. 


34  INKLE  AND  YAR1C0,  act  21, 

Plant  Aye,  aye,  do  so— Why  what  return  can  the 
wench  wish  more  than  taking  her  from  a  wild,  idle, 
savage  people,  and  providing  for  her,  here,  with  re- 
putable hard  work,  in  a  genteel,  polished,  tender, 
Christian  country  ? 

Inkle.  Well,  sir,  at  noon—- — 

Plant.  I'll  meet  you — but  remember,  young  gentle- 
man, you  must  get  her  off  your  hands— you  must  in- 
deed.— I  shall  have  her  a  bargain,  I  see  that — your 
servant !— Zounds,  how  late  it  is  but  never  be  put 
out  of  your  way  for  a  woman — I  must  run — my  wife 
wiil  play  the  devil  with  me  for  keeping  breakfast,  [exit. 

Inkle.  Trudge. 

Trudge.  Sir ! 

Inkle.  Have  you  provided  a  proper  apartment  ? 

Trudge.  Yes,  sir,  at  the  Crown  here ;  a  neat,  spruce 
room,  they  tell  me.  You  have  not  seen  such  a  con- 
venient lodging  this  good  while,  I  believe. 

Inkle.  Are  there  no  better  inns  in  the  town  ? 

Trudge.  Um — Why  there's  the  Lion,  I  hear,  and 
the  Bear,  and  the  Boar — but  we  saw  them  at  the  door 
of  all  our  late  lodgings,  and  found  but  bad  accommo- 
dations within,  sir. 

Inkle.  Well,  run  to  the  end  of  the  quay,  snd  conduct 
Yarico  hither.  The  road  is  straight  before  you :  you 
can't  miss  it. 

Trudge.  Very  well,  sir.  What  a  fine  thing  it  is  to 
turn  one's  back  on  a  master,  without  running  into  a 
wolf's  belly  !  One  can  follow  one's  nose  on  a  message 
here,  and  be  sure  it  won't  be  bit  off  by  the  way.     [exit. 

Inkle.  Let  me  reflect  a  little.  Part  with  her — J  usti- 
fied  f — Pshaw,  my  interest,  honour,  engagements  to 
Narcissa,  all  demand  it.  My  father's  precepts,  too — 
I  can  remember,  when  I  was  a  boy,  what  pains  he 
took  to  mould  me  ! — Schooled  me  from  morn  to  night 
— and  still  the  burden  of  his  song  was — prudence  ! 
Prudence,  Thomas,  and  you'll  rise. — Early  he  taught 
me  numbers  ;    which  he  said,  and  he  said  rightly, 


rikftfi  i.  Ai\  OPERA.  "  35 

would  give  me  a  quick  view  of  loss  and  profit;  and 
banish  from  my  mind  those  idle  impulses  of  passion, 
which  mark  young  thoughtless  spendthrifts.  His  max- 
ims rooted  in  my  heart,  and  as  1  grew — they  grew  ; 
till  I  was  reckoned,  among  our  friends,  a  steady,  sober, 
solid,  good  young  man  ;  and  all  the  neighbours  call- 
ed me  the  prudent  Mr.  Thomas.  And  shall  I  now, 
at  once,  kick  down  the  character  which  I  have  raised 
so  warily  ? — Part  with  her — The  thought  once  struck 
me  in  our  cabin,  as  she  lay  sleeping  by  me  ;  but,  in 
her  slumbers,  she  past  her  arm  around  me,  murmured 
a  blessing  on  my  name,  and  broke  my  meditations. 
Enter  Yarico  and  Trudge. 

Yar.  My  love  ; 

Trudge.  I  have  heen  showing  her  all  the  wigs  and 
bales  of  goods  we  met  on  the  quay,  sir. 

Yar.  Oh  !  I  have  feasted  my  eyes  on  wonders. 

Trudge.  And  I'll  go  feast  on  a  slice  of  beef,  in  the 
inn,  here.  [Exit, 

.Yar.  My  mind  has  been  so  busy,  that  I  almost  for- 
got even  you.  I  wish  you  had  staid  with  me — You 
would  have  seen  such  sights  ! 

Inkle.  Those  sights  have  grown  familiar  to  me,  Ya- 
rico. 

Yar.  And  yet  1  wish  they  were  not. — You  might 
partake  my  pleasures — but  now  again,  methinks,  I 
will  not  wish  so — for,  with  too  much  gazing,  you  might 
neglect  poor  Yarico. 

Inkle.    Nay,  nay,  my  care  is  still  for  you. 

Yar.  I'm  sure  it  is  :  and  if  I  thought  it  was  not,  I'd 
tell  you  tales  about  our  poor  old  grot — bid  you  remem- 
ber our  palm-tree  near  the  brook,  where  in  the  shade 
you  often  stretched  yourself,  while  I  would  take  your 
head  upon  my  lap,  and  sihg  my  love  to  sleep.  I  know 
you'll  love  me  then. 

Our  grotto  was  the  sweetest  place ! 

The  bending  boughs,  with  fragrance  blowing* 


36  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  '  act  h 

Would  check  the  brook's  impetuous  pace, 
Which  murmur' cl  to  be  stopt  from  flowing, 

'Twas  there  we  met,  and  gaz'd  our  fill, 
Ah  !  think  on  this,  and  love  me  still. 

'Twas  then  my  bosom  first  knew  fear, 
< — Fear,  to  an  Indian  maid  a  stranger — 
The  war-song,  arrows,  hatchet5  spear, 
All  warh'd  me  of  my  lover's  danger. 
For  him  did  cares  my  bosom  fill ; 
Ah  !  think  on  this,  and  love  me  still.  [Exeunt 

SCENE  LI. — sir  Christopher  curry's. 

Enter  Sir  Christopher  and  Medium. 

Sir  C.  I  tell  you,  old  Medium,  you  are  all  wrong. 
Plague  on  your  doubts  !  Inkle  shall  have  my  Narcissa. 
Poor  fellow  !  I  dare  say  he's  finely  chagrined  at  this 
temporary  parting — Eat  up  with  the  blue  devils,  I  war- 
rant. 

Med.  Eat  up  by  the  black  devils,  I  Warrant ;  for  I 
left  him  in  hellish  hungry  company. 

Sir  C.  Pshaw  !  he'll  arrive  with  the  next  vessel,  de- 
pend on't — besides,  have  not  I  had  this  in  view  ever 
since  they  were  children  ?  I  must  and  will  have  it  so, 
I  tell  you.  Is  not  it,  as  it  were,  a  marriage  made 
above  ?     They  shall  meet,  I'm  positive. 

Med.  Shall  they  ?  Then  they  must  meet  where  the 
marriage  was  made ;  for,  hang  me,  if  I  think  it  will 
ever  happen  below. 

Sir  C.  Ha  ! — and  if  that  is  the  case — hang  me,  if  1 
think  you'll  ever  be  at  the  celebration  of  it. 

Med.  Yet,  let  me  tell  you,  Sir  Christopher  Curry, 
my  character  is  as  unsullied  as  a  sheet  of  white  paper. 

Sir  C.  Well  said,  old  fool's  cap  !  and  it's  as  mere 
a  blank  as  a  sheet  of  white  paper.  You  are  honest, 
old  Medium,  by  comparison,,  just  as  a  fellow  sentenced 


scene  lh  AN  OPERA.  37 

to  transportation  is  happier  than  his  companion  con- 
demned to  the  gallows — Very  worthy,  because  you  are 
no  rogue  ;  tender  hearted,  because  you  never  go  to 
fires  and  executions ;  and  an  affectionate  father  and 
husband,  because  you  never  pinch  your  children,  or 
kick  your  wife  out  of  bed. 

Med.  And  that,  as  the  world  goes,  is  more  than 
every  man  can  say  for  himself.  Yet,  since  you  force 
me  to  speak  my  positive  qualities — but,  no  matter,— 
you  remember  me  in  London  :  didn't  I,  as  member  of 
the  Humane  Society,  bring  a  man  out  of  the  New 
River,  who,  it  was  afterwards  found,  had  done  me  an 
injury  ? 

Sir  C.  And,  damme,  if  I  would  not  kick  any  man 
into  the  New  River  that  had  done  me  an  injury. 
There's  the  difference  of  our  honesty.  Oons  !  if  you 
want  to  be  an  honest  fellow,  act  from  the  impulse  of 
nature.     Why,  you  have  no  more  gall  than  a  pigeon. 

Mid.  Ha !  You're  always  so  hasty ;  among  the 
hodge-podge  of  your  foibles,  passion  is  always  predo- 
•  minant 

Sir  C.  So  much  the  hetter.— — Foibles,  quotha? 
foibles  are  foils  that  give  additional  lustre  to  the  gems 
of  virtue.     You  have  not  so  many  foils  as  I,  perhaps. 

Med.  And  what's  more,  I  dont  want  'em,  sir  Chris- 
topher, I  thank  you. 

Sir  C.  Very  true,  for  the  devil  a  gem  have  you  to 
set  off  with  'em. 

Med.  Well,  well ;  I  never  mention  errors ;  that,  I 
flatter  myself,  is  no  disagreeable  quality. — It  don't  be^ 
come  me  to  say  you  are  hot. 

Sir  C.  'Sblood  !  but  it  does  become  you  ;  it  be« 
comes  every  man,  especially  an  Englishman,  to  speal 
the  dictates  of  his  heart. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  An  English  vessel,  sir,  just  arrived  in  the  hat 
bour. 

VOL.  XIV,  9 


38  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  it, 

Sir  C.  A  vessel !  Od's  my  life  ! — Now  for  the  news 
e»~If  it  is  but  as  1  hope — Any  dispatches  ? 

Serv.  This  letter,  sir,  brought  by  a  sailor  from  the 
quay. 

Med.  Well,  read,  Sir  Christopher. 

Sir  C  [opening  the  letter.}  Huzza  !  here  it  is.  He's 
safe — safe  and  sound  at  Barbadoes.  [Reading]  Sir, 
My  master,  Mr.  Inkle,  is  just  arrived  in  your  har- 
bour. Here  read,  read !  old  Medium — 
\Med.  [reading]  Urn — Your  harbour — we  were  taken 
up  by  an  English  vessel  on  the  14  th  ult.  He  only 
waits  till  I  have  puffed  his  hair,  to  pay  his  respeds  to 
you,  and  Miss.  JSfarcissa. — In  the  mean  time  he  has  or- 
dered me  to  brush  up  this  letter  for  your  honour  from 
your  humble  $erva7it  to  command, 

Timothy  Trudge. 

Sir  C.  Hey  day !  here's  a  stile  !  the  voyage  has 
jumbled  the  fellow's  brains  out  of  their  places  ;  the 
water  has  made  his  head  turn  round.  But  no  matter, 
mine  turns  round,  too.  I'll  go  and  prepare  Narcissa 
directly,  they  shall  be  married,  slap-dash,  as  soon  as  he 
comes  from  the  quay.  From  Neptune  to  Hymen ; 
from  the  hammock  to  the  bridal  bed — Ha  !    old  boy  ! 

Med.  Well,  well,  dont  flurry  yourself— you're  so 
hot ! 

Sir  C.  Hot  !  blood,  arri't  I  in  the  West  Indies  ? 
Arn't  I  Governor  of  Barbadoes  ?  He  shall  have  her  as 
soon  as  he  sets  his  foot  on  shore. — She  shall  rise  to 
him  like  Venus  out  of  the  sea.  His  hair  puffed!  He 
ought  to  have  been  puffing,  here,  out  of  breath,  by  this 
tune. 

Med.  Very  true ;  but  Venus's  husband  is  always 
supposed  to  be  lame,  you  know,  Sir  Christopher. 

Sir  C.  Well,  now  do,  my  good  fellow,  run  down  to 
the  shore,  and  see  what  detains  him. 

[hurrying  him  offa 
Med.  Well,  well ;  I  will,  I  will.  [exit. 

Sir  Q,  .In  the  mean  time>  I'll  get  ready  Narcissa] 


scene  11.  AN  OPERA,  S3 

and  all  shall  be  concluded  in  a  second.  My  heart's 
set  upon  it.  Poor  fellow !  after  all  his  rambles,  and 
tumbles,  and  jumbles,  and  fits  of  despair — 1  shall  be 
rejoiced  to  see  him.  I  have  not  seen  him  since  he 
was  that  high.— But,  zounds  !  he's  so  tardy  ! 
Enter  a  servant. 

Serv.  A  strange  gentleman,  sir,  come  from  the  quay, 
desires  to  see  you. 

Sir  C.  From  the  quay  ?  Od's  my  life ! — 'Tis  he — 
'Tis  Inkle!  Show  him  up,  directly,  [exit  servant] 
The  rogue  is  expeditious  after  all.     I'm  so  happy. 

Enter  Campley. 
My  dear  fellow !  [embracing  him]  I'm  rejoiced  to  see 
you.     Welcome ;  welcome  here,  with  all  my  soul ! 

Camp.  This  reception,  Sir  Christopher,  is  beyond 
my  warmest  wishes. — Unknown  to  you — 

Sir  C.  Aye,  aye;  we  shall  be  better  acquainted  by 
and  by.  Well,  and  how,  eh  !  Tell  me  !  But  old  Me- 
dium and  I  have  talked  over  your  affair  a  hundred 
times  a  day,  ever  since  Narcissa  arrived. 

Camp.  You  surprise  me  !  Are  you  then  really  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  affair? 

Sir  C.  Every  tittle. 

Camp.  And,  can  you,  sir,  pardon  what  is  past? 

Sir  C.  Pooh  !  how  could  you  help  it  ? 

Camp.     Very  true — sailing  in  the  same  ship — and — 

Sir  C.  Aye,  aye;  but  we  have  had  a  hundred  con- 
jectures about  you.  Your  despair  and  distress,  and 
all  that  Your's  must  have  been  a  damned  situation, 
to  say  the  truth. 

Camp.  Cruel  indeed,  Sir  Christopher !  and  I  flatter 
myself  will  move  your  compassion.  I  have  been 
almost  inclined  to  despair,  indeed,  as  you  say,  but 
when  you  consider  the  past  state  of  my  mind — the 
black  prospect  before  me. 

Sir  C,  Ha !  ha !  Black  enough,  [  dare  say. 

Camp.  The  difficulty  I  have  felt  in  bringing  myself 
face  to  face  to  vou. 


40  INKLE  AND  YAR1CO,  act  u- 

Sir  C.  That  I  am  convinced  of— but  I  knew  you 
would  come  the  first  opportunity. 

Camp.  Very  true  :  yet  the  distance  between  the 
Govenor  of  Barbadoes  and  myself.  [bowing. 

Sir  C  Yes — a  devilish  way  asunder. 

Camp.  Granted,  sir :  which  has  distressed  me  with 
the  crudest  doubts  as  to  our  meeting. 

Sir  C.  It  was  a  toss  up. 

Camp.  The  old  gentleman  seems  devilish  kind. 
Now  to   soften   him-     [aside]     Perhaps,  sir,  in  your 
younger  days,  you  may  have  been  in  the  same  situa- 
tion yourself. 

Sir  C.  Who  ?  I !  sblood !  no,  never  in  my  life. 

Camp.  I  wish  you  had,  with  all  my  soul,  Sir  Chris- 
topher. 

Sir  C.  Upon  my  soul,  sir,  I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you.  [bowing. 

Camp.  As  what  I  now  mention  might  have  greater 
weight  with  you. 

Sir  C.  Pooh  !  pr'ythee !  I  tell  you  I  pitied  you  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart. 

Camp.  Indeed  !  If,  with  your  leave,  I  may  still 
venture  to  mention  Miss  Narcissa — 

Sir  C.  An  impatient,  sensible  young  dog !  like  me 
to  a  hair!  Set  your  heart  at  rest,  my  boy.  She's 
your's  ;  your's  before  to-morrow  morning. 

Camp.  Amazement !  I  can  scarce  believe  my  senses. 

Sir  C.  Zounds!  you  ought  to  be  out  of  your  sen- 
ses :  but  despatch— make  short  work  of  it,  ever  while 
you  live,  my  boy. 

Enter  Narcissa  and  Patty. 
Here,  girl :   here's  your  swain.  [to  JSTarcissa. 

Camp.  I  just  parted  with  my  Narcissa,  on  the  quay. 

Sir  C.  Did  you  !  Ah,  sly  dog — had  a  meeting  before 
you  came  to  the  old  gentleman. — But  here — Take  him, 
and  make  much  of  him — and,  for  fear  of  further  sepa- 
rations, you  shall  e'en  be  tack'd  together  directly. 
What  say  you,  girl  ? 


scene  ii.  AN  OPERA.  41 

Camp.  Will  my  Narcissa  consent  to  my  happiness  ? 

Nar.  I  always  obey  my  father's  commands,  with 
pleasure,  sir. 

Sir  C.  Od !  I'm  so  happy,  I  hardly  know  which 
way  to  turn ;  but  we'll  have  the  carriage  directly ; 
drive  down  to  the  quay ;  trundle  old  Spintext  into 
church  ;  and  hey  for  matrimony ! 

Camp.  With  all  my  heart,  Sir  Christopher;  the 
sooner  the  better. 

Sir  Christopher,  Campley,  JS/arcissaf  Patty, 

Sir  C.     YourColinettes,  and  Arriettes, 
Your  Damons  of  the  grove, 
Who  like  Fallals,  and  Pastorals 
Waste  years  in  love  ! 
But  modern  folks  know  Better  jokes, 

And,  courting  once  begun, 
To  church  they  hop  at  once — and  pop— 
Egad,  all's  done  ! 

JUL          In  life  we  prance  a  country  dance, 
Where  every  couple  stands ; 
Their  partners  set a  while  curvet- 
But  soon  join  hands. 

JSTar.        When  at  our  feet,  so  trim  and  neat, 
The  powder'd  lover  sues, 
He  vows  he  dies,  the  lady  sighs, 

But  can't  refuse. 
Ah !  how  can  she  unmov'd  e're  see 

Her  swain  his  death  incur? 
If  once  the  Squire  is  seen  expire, 
He  lives  with  her. 
All.         In  life,  &c.  &c. 

Patty.     When  John  and  Bet  are  fairly  met, 
John  boldly  tries  his  luck  : 


42  INKLE  AND  YARICO.  aci 

He  steals  a  buss,  without  more  fuss, 

The  bargain's  struck. 
Whilst  things  below  are  going  so, 

Is  Betty  pray  to  blame  ? 
Who  knows  up  stairs,  her  mistress  fares 
Just,  just  the  same. 
AIL         In  life  we  prance,  &c.  &c. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

SCENE  f. 

THE  QUAY. 

Mnter  Patty. 

Patty.  Mercy  on  us !  \vhat  a  walk  I  have  had  of  it ! 
Well,  matters  go  on  swimmingly  at  the  governor's— 
The  old  gentleman  has  ordered  the  carriage,  and  the 
young  couple  will  be  whisk'd,  here,  to  church,  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  My  business  is  to  prevent  young 
sobersides,  young  Inkle,  from  appearing,  to  interrupt 
the  ceremony. — Ha  !  here's  the  Crown,  where  1  hear 
he  is  hous'd.  So  now  to  find  Trudge,  and  trump  up 
a  story,  in  the  true  style  of  a  chambermaid,  (goes 
into  the  house.)  (Paty  within.)  I  tell  you  it  don't 
signify,  and  I  will  come  up.  {Trudge,  within.)  But  it 
does  signify,  and  you  cant  come  up. 

Re-enter  Patty,  with  Trudge. 

Patty.  You  had  better  say  at  once,  I  shan't. 

Trudge.  Well  then,  you  shan't. 

Patty.  Savage !  Pretty  behaviour  you  have  pick'd 
up  among  the  Hottypots !    Your  London  civility,  likft 


scene  i.  AN  OPERA.  43 

London  itself,  will  soon  be  lost  in  smoke,  Mr.  Trudge; 
and  the  politeness  you  have  studied  so  long  in  Thread- 
needle-street,  blotted  out  by  the  blacks  you  have  been 
living  with. 

Trudge.  No  such  thing ;  I  practised  my  politeness 
all  the  while  I  was  in  the  woods.  Our  very  lodging 
taught  me  good  manners ;  for  I  could  never  bring  my- 
self to  go  into  it  without  bowing. 

Patty.  Don't  tell  me  !  A  mighty  civil  reception  you 
give  a  body,  truly,  after  a  six  weeks  parting. 

Trudge.  Gad,  you're  right :  I  am  a  little  out  here, 
to  be  sure,     (kisses  her.)     Well,  how  do  you  do  ? 

Patty.  Pshaw,  fellow  !   I  want  none  of  your  kisses. 

Trudge.  Oh  !  very  well — I'll  take  it  again,  (offers 
io  kiss  her. 

Patty.  Be  quiet :  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Inkle  :  I  have 
a  message  to  him  from  Miss  Narcissa.  I  shall  get  a 
sight  of  him,  now,  I  believe. 

Trudge.  May  be  not.     He's  a  little  busy  at  present. 

Patty.  Busy— ha!  Plodding!  What  he's  at  his 
multiplication  again  ? 

Trudge  Very  likely ;  so  it  would  be  a  pitty  to  in- 
ter upt  him,  you  know. 

Patty.  Certainly ;  and  the  whole  of  my  business 
was  to  prevent  his  hurrying  himself— Tell  him,  we 
shan't  be  ready  to  receive  him,  at  the  governor's,  till 
to-morrow,  d'ye  hear  ? 

Trudge.  No? 

Patty.  No.  Things  are  not  prepared.  The  place 
isn't  in  order;  and  the  servants  have  not  had  proper 
notice  of  the  arrival. 

Trudge.  Oh  !  let  me  alone  to  give  the  servants  no- 
tice— rat-tat-tat— It's  all  the  notice  we  had  in  Thread- 
needle-street  of  the  arrival  of  a  visitor. 

Patty.  Threadneedle-street !  Treadneedle-nonsense  ! 
I'd  have  you  know  we  do  every  thing  here  with  an 
air.  Matters  have  taken  another  turn—Style  !  Style, 
sir,  is  required  here,  I  promise  you. 


44  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  in, 

Trudge.  Turn — Style  !  And  pray  what  style  will 
serve  your  turn  now,  Madam  Patty  ? 

Patty.  A  due  dignity  and  decorum,  to  be  sure.  Sir 
Christopher  intends  Mr,  Inkle,  you  know,  for  his  son- 
in-law,  and  must  receive  him  in  public  form,  (which 
can't  be  till  to-morrow  morning)  for  the  honour  of  his 
governorship  :  why  the  whole  island  will  ring  of  it. 
Trudge.  The  devil  it  will ! 

Patty.  Yes ;    they've  talk'd  of  nothing  but  my  mis- 
tress's beauty  and  fortune  for  these  six  weeks.     Then 
he'll  be  introduced  to  the  bride,  you  know. 
.  Trudge.  O,  my  poor  master  ! 

Patty.  Then  a  public  breakfast ;  then  a  procession; 
then,  if  nothing  happens  to  prevent  it,  he'll  get  into 
church,  and  be  married  in  a  crack. 

Trudge.  Then  he'll  get  into  a  damn'd  scrape,  in  a 
crack.  Ah  !  poor  madam  Yarico  !  My  poor  pilgarlic 
of  a  master,  what  will  become  of  him  !  [half  aside. 

Patty.  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  bcoby  ? 

Trudge.    Nothing,  nothing he'll  be  hang'd  for 

poly- bigamy. 

Patty.  Polly  who  ? 
Trudge.  It  must  out — Patty  ! 
Patty.  Well? 

Trudge.  Can  you  keep  a  secret  ? 
Patty.  Try  me! 

Trudge.  Then  (whispering)  my  master  keeps  a  girl. 
Patty.  Oh  monstrous!  another  worn? n  ? 
Trudge.  As  sure  as  one  and  one  makes  two. 
Patty,  (aside)  Rare  news  for  my  mistress  ! — Why  I 
can  hardly  believe  it ;  the  grave,  sly,  steady,  sober  Mr. 
Inkle,  do  such  a  thing ! 

Trudge.  Pooh  !  it's  always  your  sly,  sober  fellows, 
that  go  the  most  after  the  girls. 

Patty.  Well ;  I  should  sooner  suspect  you. 
Trudge.  Me?    Oh  Lord!  he!  he!— Do, you   think 
any  smart,  tight,  liitle,  black-eyed  wench,  would  be 
struck  with  my  figure  ?  [ conceitedly. 


scene  i.  AN  OPERA.  45 

Patty.  Pshaw  !  never  mind  your  figure.  Tell  me 
how  it  happened  ? 

Trudge.  You  shall  hear:  when  the  ship  left  us 
ashore,  my  master  turned  as  pale  as  a  sheet  of  paper. 
It  isn't  everybody  that's  blest  with  courage,  Patty. 

Patty.  True  ! 

Trudge.  However,  I  bid  him  cheer  up;  told  him, 
to  stick  to  my  elbow :  took  the  lead,  and  began  our 
march. 

Patty.  Well? 

Trudge.  We  had'nt  gone  far,  when  a  damn'd  one- 
eyed  black  boar,  that  grinn'd  like  a  devil,  came  down 
the  hill  in  a  jog  trot !  My  master  melted  as  fast  as  a 
pot  of  pomatum ! 

Patty.  Mercy  on  us  ! 

Trudge.  But  what  does  I  do,  but  whips  out  my  desk 
knife,  that  1  us'd  to  cut  the  quills  with  at  home;  met 
the  monster,  and  slit  up  his  throat  like  a  pen— The 
boar  bled  like  a  pig. 

Patty.  Lord  !  Trudge,  what  a  great  traveller  you 
are ! 

Trudge.  Yes ;  I  remember  we  fed  on  the  flitch  for  a 
week. 

Patty.  Well,  well ;  but  the  lady. 

Trudge.  The  lady  ?  Oh,  true.  By  and  by  we  came 
to  a  cave — a  large  hollow  room,  under-ground,  like 
a  warehouse  in  the  Adelphi — Well!  there  wb  were 
half  an  hour,  before  J  could  get  him  to  go  in  ;  there's 
no  accounting  for  fear,  you  know.  At  last,  in  we  went 
to  a  place  hung  round  with  skins,  as  it  might  be  a  fur- 
rier's shop,  and  there  was  a  fine  lady,  snoring  on  a 
bow  and  arrows. 

Patty.  What,  all  alone  ? 

Trudge.  Eh  ! No — no—Hum— She  had  a  young 

lion  by  way  of  a  lap-dog. 

Patty.  Gemini ;  what  did  you  do  ? 
Trudge.  Gave  her  a  jog,  and  she  open'd  her  eyes 
she  struck  my  master  immediately. 


4t>  INKLE  AND  YAKICG,  act  in. 

Patty.  Mercy  on  us !  with  what  ? 

Trudge.  With  her  beauty,  you  ninny,  to  be  sure : 
and  they  soon  brought  matters  to  bear.  The  wolves 
witness' d  the  contract — I  gave  her  away — The  crows 
croak'd  amen;  and  we  had  board  and  lodging  for 
nothing. 

Patty.  And  this  is  she  he  has  brought  to  Barbadoes? 

Trudge.  The  same. 

Patty.  Well;  and  tell  me,  Trudge;  she's  pretty, 
you  say — Is  she  fair  or  brown  ?  or 

Trudge.  Um !  she's  a  good  comely  copper. 

Patty.  How  !  a  tawney  ? 

Trudge.  Yes,  quite  dark ;  but  very  elegant ;  like  a 
Wedgwood  tea-pot. 

Patty.  Oh  !  the  monster !  the  filthy  fellow !  Live 
with  a  black-a-moor ! 

Trudge.  Why,  there's  no  great  harm  in't,  I  hope  ? 

Patty.  Faugh  !  I  wou'dn't  let  him  kiss  me  for  the 
world :  he'd  make  my  face  all  smutty. 

Trudge.  Zounds !  you  are  mighty  nice  all  of  a  sud- 
den ;  but  I'd  have  you  to  know,  madam  Patty,  that 
blackamoor  ladies,  as  you  call  'em,  are  some  of  the 
very  few,  whose  complexions  never  rub  off!  S'bud,  if 
they  did,  Wows  and  I  shou'd  have  changed  faces  by 
this  time — But  mum  ;  not  a  word  for  your  life. 

Patty.  Not  f !  except  to  the  Governor  and  family. 
(aside)  But  I  must  run — and,  remember,  Trudge,  if 
your  master  has  made  a  mistake  here,  he  has  himself 
to  thank  for  his  pains.  [exit. 

Trudge.  Pshaw !  these  girls  are  so  plaguy  proud  of 
their  white  and  red !  but  I  won't  be  shamed  out  of 
Wows,  that's  flat.  Master,  to  be  sure,  while  we  were 
in  the  forest,  taught  Yarico  to  read,  with  his  pencil 
and  pocket-book.  What  then  ?  Wows  comes  on  fine 
and  fast  in  her  lessons.  A  little  awkward  at  first  to 
be  sure.  Ha!  ha!  She's  so  used  to  feed  with  her 
hands,  that  I  can't  get  her  to  eat  her  victuals,  in  a 
genteel,  Christian  way,  for  the  soul  of  me ;  when  she 


scene  *.  AN  OPERA.  4? 

has  stuck  a  morsel  on  her  fork,  she  don't  know  how  to 
guide  it ;  but  pops  up  her  knuckles  to  her  mouth,  and 
the  meat  goes  up  to  her  ear.  But,  no  matter — After 
all  the  fine,  flashy  London  girls,  Wowski's  the  wench 
for  my  money. 

A  Clerk  I  was  in  London  gay, 

Jemmy  linkum  feedle, 
And  went  in  boots  to  see  the  play, 

Merry  fiddlem  tweedle. 
I  march'd  the  lobby,  twirl' d  my  stick, 

Diddle,  daddle,  deedle ; 
The  girls  all  cry'd,  "  He's  quite  the  kick," 

Oh,  jemmy  linkum  feedle. 

Hey  !  for  America  I  sail, 

Yankee  doodle  deedle ; 
The  sailor  boys  cry'd,  "  smoke  his  tail  !w 

Jemmy  linkum  feedle. 
On  English  belles  I  turn'd  my  back, 

Diddle  daddle  deedle; 
And  got  a  foreign  Fair,  quite  Black, 

O  twaddle,  twaddle,  tweedle  ! 

Your  London  girls,  with  roguish  trip, 

Wheedle,  wheedle,  wheedle, 
May  boast  their  pouting  under-lip, 

Fiddle,  faddle,  feedle. 
My  Wows  wou'd  beat  a  hundred  such, 

Diddle,  daddle,  deedle, 
Whose  upper-lip  pouts  twice  as  much, 

O,  pretty  double  wheedle ! 

Rings  I'll  buy  to  deck  her  toes ; 

Jemmy  linkum  feedle ; 
A  feather  fine  shall  grace  her  nose ; 

Waving  siddle  seedle, 


48  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  in. 

With  jealousy  I  ne'er  shall  burst ; 

Who'd  steal  my  bone  of  bone-a  ? 
A  white  Othello,  I  can  trust 

A  dingy  Desdemona.  [exit. 


SCENE  II.      A  ROOM  IN  THE  CROWN. 

Enter  Inkle. 

Inkle.  I  know  not  what  to  think — I  have  given  her 
distant  hints  of  parting ;  but  still,  so  strong  her  confi- 
dence in  my  affection  she  prattles  on  without  regard- 
ing me.  Poor  Yarico !  I  must  not — cannot  quit  her. 
When  I  would  speak,  her  look,  her  mere  simplicity 
disarms  me  :  I  dare  not  wound  such  innocence.  Sim- 
plicity is  like  a  smiling  babe ;  which,  to  the  ruffian, 
that  would  murder  it,  stretching  its  little,  naked, 
helpless  arms,  pleads,  speechless,  its  own  cause.  And 
yet  Narcissa's  family — 

Enter  Trudge. 

Trudge.  There  he  is,  like  a  beau  bespeaking  a  coat 
—doubting  which  colour  to  choose — sir — 

Inkle.  What  now? 

Trudge.  Nothing  unexpected,  sir : — I  hope  you 
won't  be  angry. 

Inkle.  Angry  ! 

Trudge.  I'm  sorry  for  it :  but  I  am  come  to  give 
you  joy,  sir ! 

Inkle.  Joy' of  what? 

Tradge.  A  wife,  sir ;  a  white  one. — I  know  it  will 
vex  you,  but  Miss  Narcissa  means  to  make  you  happy s 
to-morrow  morning. 

Inkle.  To-morrow  ! 

Trude.  Yes,  sir ;  and  as  I  have  been  out  of  employ. 
in  both  my  capacities,  lately,  after  I  have  dressed  your 
hair,  I  may  draw  up  the  marriage  articles. 

Inkle.  Whence  comes  your  intelligence,  sir  f 


scene  II.  AN  OPERA.  49 

Trudge.  Patty  told  me  all  that  has  passed  in  the  Go- 
vernor's family,  on  the  quay,  sir.  Women,  you  know, 
can  never  keep  a  secret.  You'll  be  introduced  in 
form,  with  the  whole  island  to  witness  it. 

Inkle.  So  public  too  ! Unlucky ! 

Trudge.  There  will  be  nothing  but  rejoicings,  in 
compliment  to  the  wedding,  she  tells  me  ;  all  noise  and 
uproar !  Married  people  like  it,  they  say. 

Inkle.  Strange !  That  I  should  be  so  blind  to  my 
interest,  as  to  be  the  only  person  this  distresses ! 

Trudge.  They  are  talking  of  nothing  else  but  the 
match,  it  seems. 

Inkle.  Confusion  !  How  can  I,  in  honour,  retract  ? 

Trudge.  And  the  bride's  merits 

Inkle.  True! — A  fund  of  merits! — I  would  not — 
but  from  necessity — a  case  so  nice  as  this — I — would 
not  wish  to  retract. 

Trudge.  Then  they  call  her  so  handsome. 

Inkle.  Very  true!  so  handsome!  the  whole  world 
would  laugh  at  me :  they'd  call  it  folly  to  retract. 

Trudge.  And  then  they  say  so  much  of  her  fortune. 

Inkle.  O  death  !  it  would  be  madness  to  retract. 
Surely,  my  faculties  have  slept,  and  this  long  parting, 
from  my  Narcissa,  has  blunted  my  sense  of  her  accom- 
plishments. 'Tis  this  alone  makes  me  so  weak  and 
wavering.     I'll  see  her  immediately.  Agoing. 

Trudge.  Stay,  stay,  sir  ;  I  am  desired  to  tell  you, 
the  Governor  won't  open  his  gates  to  us  till  to-mor- 
row morning,  and  is  now  making  preparations  to  re- 
ceive you  at  breakfast,  with  all  the  honours  of  matri- 
mony. 

Inkle.  Well,  be  it  so ;  it  will  give  me  time,  at  all 
events,  to  put  my  affairs  in  train. 

Trudge.  Yes ;  it's  a  short  respite  before  execution  ; 
and  if  your  honour  was  to  go  and  comfort  poor  madam 
Yarico 

Inkle.  Damnation!  Scoundrel,  how  dare  you  offer 
your  advice  ?— I  dread  to  think  of  her  ! 


SO  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  m. 

Trudge.  I've  done,  sir,  IVe  done — But  I  know  I 
should  blubber  over  Wows  all.  night,  if  I  thought  of 
parting  with  her  in  the  morning. 

Inkle.  Insolence !  begone,  sir  ! 

Trudge.  Lord,  sir,  I  only 

Inkle.  Get  down  stairs,  sir,  directly. 

Trudge,  (going  out,)  Ah  !  you  may  well  put  your 
hand  to  your  head ;  and  a  bad  head  it  must  be,  to  for- 
get that  Madam  Yarico  prevented  her  countrymen 
from  peeling  off  the  upper  part  of  it.      [aside. 

[exit. 

Inkle.  'Sdeath,  what  am  I  about  ?  How  have  I  slum- 
bered ? — Is  it  I  ? — I — who,  in  London,  laughed  at  the 
younkers  of  the  town — and  when  I  saw  their  chariots, 
with  some  fine,  tempting  girl,  perked  in  the  corner, 
come  shopping  to  the  city,  would  cry — Ah  ! — there  sits 
ruin — there  flies  the  Greenhorn's  money!  then  won- 
dered with  myself  how  men  could  trifle  time  on  wo- 
men ;  or,  indeed,  think  of  any  women  without  fortunes. 
And  now,  forsooth,  it  rests  with  me  to  turn  romantic 
puppy,  and  give  up  all  for  love. — Give  up  ! — Oh, 
monstrous  folly  ! — thirty  thousand  pounds ! 
Trudge,  (peeping  in  at  the  door.) 

Trudge.  May  I  come  in,  sir  ? 

Inkle.  What  does  the  booby  want  ? 

Trudge.  Sir,  your  uncle  wants  to  see  you. 

Inkle.  Mr.  Medium  !  show  him  up  directly. 

[exit  Trudge. 
He  must  not  know  of  this.  To-morrow  ! — I  wish  this 
marriage  were  more  distant,  that  I  might  break  it  to 
her  by  degrees !  she'd  take  my  purpose  better,  were  it 
less  suddenly  delivered. 

Enter  Medium. 

Med.  Ah,  here  he  is !  Give  me  your  hand,  nephew  ! 
welcome,  welcome  to  Barbadoes,  with  all  my  heart. 

Inkle.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  here,  uncle  ! 

Med.  That  you  are,  that  you  are,  Pm  sure.  Lord  ! 
lord  I  when  we  parted  last,  how  I  wished  we  were  in 


scene  u.  AN  OPERA.  51 

a  room  together,  if  it  was  but  the  black  hole  !  I  have 
not  been  able  to  sleep  o'nights,  for  thinking  of  you. 
I've  laid  awake,  and  fancied  I  saw  you  sleeping  your 
last,  with  your  head  in  the  lion's  mouth,  for  a  night- 
cap; and  I've  never  seen  a  bear  brought  over,  to 
dance  about  the  street,  but  I  thought  you  might  be 
bobbing  up  and  down  in  its  belly. 

Inkle.  1  am  very  much  obliged  to  you. 

Med.  Ay,  ay,  I  am  happy  enough  to  find  you  safe 
and  sound,  I  promise  you.  But  you  have  a  fine  pros- 
pect before  you  now,  young  man.  I  am  come  to  take 
you  with  me  to  Sir  Christopher,  who  is  impatient  to 
see  you. 

Inkle.  To-morrow,  I  hear,  he  expects  me. 

Med.  To-morrow  !  directly — this — moment — in  half 
a  second. — I  left  him  standing  on  tip-toe,  as  he  calls 
it,  to  embrace  you ;  and  he's  standing  on  tip-toe  now 
in  the  great  parlour,  and  there  he'll  stand  till  you  come 
to  him. 

Inkle.  Is  he  so  hasty  ? 

Med.  Hasty !  he's  all  pepper — and  wonders  you  are 
not  with  him,  before  its  possible  to  get  at  him.  Hasty 
indeed  !  Why,  he  vows  you  shall  have  his  daugh- 
ter this  very  night. 

Inkle.  What  a  situation  .' 

Med.  Why,  It's  hardly  fair  just  after  a  voyage. 
But  come,  bustle,  bustle,  he'll  think  you  neglect  him. 
He's  rare  and  touchy,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  if  he  once 
takes  it  in  his  head  that  you  show  the  least  slight  to 
his  daughter,  it  would  knock  up  all  your  schemes  in  a 
ramute. 

Inkle.  Confusion  !  if  he  should  hear  of  Yarico  ! 

[aside, 

Med.  But  at  present  you  are  all  and  all  with  him  ? 
he  has  been  telling  me  his  intentions  these  six  weeks : 
you'll  be  a  fine  warm  husband,  I  promise  you. 

Inkle.  This  cursed  connexion  !  [aside. 

Med.  It  is  not  for  me,  though,  to  tell  you  how  to 


.52  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  hi, 

play  your  cards;  you  are  a  prudent  young  man,  and 
*"  can  make  calculations  in  a  wood. 

Inkle.  Fool !  fool  !  fool !  [aside. 

Med.    Why,  what  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

Inkle.  It  must  be  done  effectually,  or  all  is  lost ; 
mere  parting  would  not  conceal  it.  [aside. 

Med,  Ah  !  now  he's  got  to  his  damned  square  root 
again,  I  suppose,  and  old  Nick  would  not  move  him— 
why,  Nephew ! 

Inkle.  The  planter  that  I  spoke  with  cannot  be  ar- 
rived— but  time  is  precious — the  first  I  meet — common 
prudence  now  demands  it.  I'm  fixed  ;  I'll  part  with 
her.  [aside'.]  -•  [eocif 

Med.  Damn  me,  but  he's  mad  !  the  woods  have 
turned  the  poor  man's  brains  ;  he's. scalped  and  gone 
crazy !  hoho  !  inkle  !  nephew !  gad,  I'll  spoil  your 
arithmetic,  I  warrant  me.  [exit 


SCENE  III.— THE  QUAY. 

Enter  Sir  Christopher  Curry. 

Sir  C.  Ods  my  life  !  I  can  scarce  contain  ray  happi- 
ness. 1  have  left  them  safe  in  church  in  the  middle  of 
the  ceiemony.  I  ought  to  have  given  Narcissa  away, 
they  told  me ;  but  I  capered  about  so  much  for  joy, 
that  old  Spintext  advised  me  to  go  and  cool  my  heels 
on  the  quay,  till  it  was  all  over.  Od,  I'm  so  happy  ; 
and  they  shall  see,  now,  what  an  old  fellow  can  do  at 
a  wedding. 

Enter  Inkle. 

Inkle.  Now  for  dispatch  !  hark'ee,  old  gentleman  ! 
[to  the  Governor. 

Sir  C.  Well,  young  gentleman  ? 

Inkle.  If  I  mistake  not,  I  know  your  business  here. 

SirC.  'Egad  I  believe  half  the  island  knows  it,  by 
this  time. 


scene  ut.  AN  OPERA.  i& 

Inkle.  Then  to  the  point—I  have  a  female,  whom  I 
wish  to  part  with. 

Sir  C.  Very  likely ;  it's  a  common  ease  now-a-days,, 
with  many  a  man. 

Inkle.  If  you  could  satisfy  me  you  would  use  her 
mildly,  and  treat  her  with  more  kindness  than  is  usual 
— for  I  can  tell  you  she's  of  no  common  stamp-— per- 
haps we  might  agree. 

Sir  C.  Oho !  a  slave  !  faith  now  I  think  on't  my 
daughter  may  want  an  attendant  or  two  extraordinary; 
and  as  you  say  she's  a  delicatetgirl,  above  the  common 
run,  and  none  of  your  thick  lipped,  fat  nosed,  squabby 9 
dumpling  dowdies,  I  dont  much  care  if— 

Inkle.  And  for  her  treatment — 

Sir  C.  Look  ye,  young  man ;  I  love  to  be  plain  : 
I  shall  treat  her  a  good  deal  better  than  you  would,  I 
I  fancy  ;  for,  though  I  witness  this  custom  every  day, 
I  can't  help  thinking  the  only  excuse  for  buying  our 
fellow  creatures,  is  to  rescue  'em  from  the  hands  of 
those  who  are  unfeeling  enough  to  bring  them  to  mar- 
ket. 

Inkle.  Fair  words,  old  gentleman  ;  an  Englishman 
won't  put  up  an  affront. 

Sir  C.  An  Englishman  !  more  shame  for  you  !  men, 
who  so  fully  feel  the  blessings  of  liberty,  are  doubly 
cruel  in  depriving  the  helpless  of  their  freedom. 

Inkle.  Let  me  assure  you,  Sir,  'tis  not  my  occupa- 
tion ;  but  for  a  private  reason— an  instant  pressing  ne= 
eessity— 

Sir  C.  Well,  well,  I  have  a  pressing  necessity,  too  ; 
I  can't  stand  to  talk  now ;  I  expect  company  hero 
presently  ;  but  if  you'll  ask  for  me  to-morrow,  at  the 
castle— 

Inkle.  The  castle ! 

Sir  C.  Aye,  sir,  the  castle ;  the  Governor's  castle; 
Isnown  all  over  Barbadoes. 

Inkle.  'Sdeath,  this  man  must  be  On  the  Governor's 
establishment :  —his  steward,  perhaps,  and  sent  after 
10 


54  liYKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  hi. 

me,  while  Sir  Christopher  is  impatiently  waiting  for 
me.  I've  gone  too  far;  my  secret -may  be  known — 
As  'tis  I'll  win  this  fellow  to  my  interest.  [to  him.] 

One  word  more,  sir  :     my  business  must  be  done  im- 
mediately;  and  as  you  seem  acquainted  at  the  castle, 
if  you  should  see  me  there — and  there  I  mean  to  sleep 
to-night- 
ly Sir  C.   The  devil  you  do  ! 

Inkle.  Your  finger  on  your  lips  ;  and  never  breathe 
a  syllable  of  this  transaction. 

Sir  C.  No  !     why  not  ? 

Inkle.  Because,  for  reasons,  which  perhaps  3Tou'll 
know  to-morrow,  I  might  be  injured  with  the  Gover- 
nor, whose  most  particular  friend  I  am. 

.Sir  C.  So  !  here's  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  com- 
ing to  sleep  at  my  house,  that  I  never  saw  in  my  life. 
I'll  sound  this  fellow,  [aside]  I  fancy,  young  gen- 
tleman, as  you  are  such  a  bosom  friend  of  the  Gover- 
nor's, you  can  hardly  do  any  thing  to  alter  your  situa- 
tion with  him. 

Inkle.  Oh  !  pardon  me ;  but  you'll  find  that  here- 
after— besides,  you,  doubtless,  know  his  character  ? 

Sir  C  Oh,  as  well  as  my  own.  But  let's  under- 
stand one  another.  You  must  trust  me,  now  you've 
gone  so  far.  You  are  acquainted  with  his  character, 
no  doubt,  to  a  hair  ? 

Inkle.  I  am — I  see  we  shall  understand  each  other. 
You  know  him  too,  I  see,  as  well  as  I. — A  very  touchy, 
testy,  hot  old  fellow. 

Sir  C.  Here's  a  scoundrel !  I  hot  and  touchy ! 
zounds !  I  can  hardly  contain  my  passion  ! — but  I 
won't  discover  myself.  I'll  see  the  bottom  of  this— - 
[to  him]  Well  now,  as  we  seem  to  have  come  to  a  to- 
lerable explanation — let's  proceed  to  business— bring 
me  the  woman. 

Inkle.  No ;  there  you  must  excuse  me.  I  rather 
would  avoid  seeing  her  more ;  and  wish  it,  to  be  settled 


scene  in.  AN  OPERA.  #5 

without  my  seeming  interference.    My  presence  might 
distress  her — You  conceive  me  ? 

Sir  C.  Zounds!  what  an  unfeeling  rascal! — the 
poor  girl's  in  love  with  him,  I  suppose.  No,  no,  fair 
and  open.  My  dealing's  with  you,  and  you,  only  ; 
I  see  her  now,  or  I  declare  off. 

Inkle.  Well  then,  you  must  be  satisfied:  yonder's 
my  servant--ha — a  thought  has  struck  me.  Come 
here,  sir. 

Enter  Trugde. 
I'll  write  my  purpose,  and  send  it  her  by  him.  It  is 
lucky  that  I  taught  her  to  decipher  characters :  my 
labour  now  is  paid,  [takes  out  his  pocket-book  and  writes] 
—This  is  somewhat  less  abrupt ;  'twill  soften  matters. 
[to  himself] — Give  this  to  Yarico  ;  then  bring  her 
hither  with  you.  [going. 

Trudge.  I  shall,  sir. 

Innle.  Stay ;  come  back.  This  soft  fool,  unin- 
structed,  may  add  to  her  distress:  his  drivelling  sym- 
pathy may  feed  her  grief,  instead  of  soothing  it.  When 
she  has  read  this  paper,  seem  to  make  light  of  it ;  tell 
her  it  is  a  thing  of  course,  done  purely  for  her  good. 
I  here  inform  her  that  I  must  part  with  her.  D'ye 
understand  your  lesson. 

Trudge.  Pa — part  with  ma — dam  Ya-ric-o  ! 

Inkle.  Why  does  the  blockhead  stammer !  I  have 
my  reasons.  No  muttering — and  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  if 
your  rare  bargain  were  gone  too,  'twould  be  the  better : 
she  may  babble  our  story  of  the  forest,  and  spoil  my 
fortune. 

Trudge.  I'm  sorry  for  it,  sir :  I  have  lived  with  you 
a  long  while ;  I've  half  a  year's  wages  too  due  the  25th 
ultimo,  due  for  dressing  your  hair  and  scribbling  your 
parchments :  but,  take  my  scribbling,  take  my  frizzing, 
take  my  wages;  and  I  and  Wows  will  take  ourselves 
off  together.  She  saved  my  life,  and  rot  me  if  any 
thing  but  death  shall  part  us. 

Inkle.  Impertinent !  Go?  and  deliver  your  message 


ii*t>  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  actiix. 

Trudge.  I'm  gone,  sir.  Lord !  lord  •'  I  never  car- 
ried a  letter  with  such  ill  will  in  all  my  born  days. 

[exit 

Sir  C.  Well— shall  I  see  the  girl  I 

Inkle.  She'll  be  here  presently.  One  thing  I  had 
forgot:  when  she  is  yours,  I  need  not  caution  you, 
after  the  hints  I've  given,  to  keep  her  from  the  castle. 
If  Sir  Christopher  should  see  her,  'twould  lead,  you 
know,  to  a  discovery  of  what  I  wish  concealed. 

Sir  C.  Depend  upon  me — Sir  Christopher  will  know 
no  more  of  our  meeting,  than  he  does  at  this  moment. 

Inkle.  Your  secrecy  shall  not  be  unrewarded:  I'll 
recommend  you,  particularly,  to  his  good  graces. 

Sir  C.  Thank  ye,  thank  ye ;  but  I'm  pretty  much  in- 
his  good  graces,  as  it  is  :  I  don't  know  any  body  he  has 
a  greater  respect  for. 

Re-enter  Trudge. 

Inkle.  Now,  sir,  have  you  performed  your  message  ? 

Trudge.  Yes,  I  gave  her  the  letter. 

Inkle.  And  where  is  Yarico?  Did  she  say  she'd 
come  ?  Didn't  you  do  as  you  were  ordered  ?  Dind't 
you  speak  to  her  ? 

Trudge.  I  couldn't,  sir,  I  couldn't:  I  intended  to 
say  what  you  bid  me — but  I  felt  such  a  pain  in  my 
throat,  I  could'nt  speak  a  word,  for  the  soul  of  me; 
so,  sir,  I  fell  a  crying. 

Inkle.  Blockhead  ! 

Sir  C.  'Sblood !  but  he's  a  very  honest  blockhead 
Tell  me,  my  good  fellow,  what  said  the  wench  ? 

Trudge.  Nothing  at  all,  sir.  She  sat  down  with  her 
two  hands  clasped  on  her  knees,  and  looked  so  piti- 
fully  in  my  face,  I  could  not  stand  it.  Oh,  here  she 
comes.  I'll  go  and  find  Wows :  if  I  must  be  melan- 
choly, she  shall  keep  me  company.  [exit 

Sir  C.  Ods  my  life,  as  comely  a  wencti  as  ever  I  saw. 
Enter  Yarico,  who  looks  for  some  time  in  Inkle's  face?, 
bursts  into  tears,  and  Jails  on  his  neck. 

Inkle,  In  tears !  nay,  Yarico !  why  this  ? 


scene  in.  AN  OPERA.  57 

Yar.  Oh  do  not — do  not  leave  me ! 

Inkle.  Why,  simple  girl !  I'm  labouring  for  your 
good.  My  interest,  here,  is  nothing :  I  can  do  nothing 
from  myself,  you  arj^ ignorant  of  our  country's  customs. 
I  must  give  way  to  men  more  powerful,  who  will  not 
have  me  with  you.  But  see,  my  Yarico,  ever  anxious 
for  your  welfare,  I've  found  a  kind,  good  person,  who 
will  protect  you. 

Yar.  Ah  !  why  not  you  protect  me  ? 

Inkle.  I  have  no  means — how  can  I  ? 

Yar.  Just  as  I  sheltered  you.  Take  me  to  yonder 
mountain,  where  1  see  no  smoke  from  tall,  high  houses, 
filled  with  your  cruel  countrymen.  None  of  your 
princes,  there,  will  come  to  take  me  from  you.  And 
should  they  stray  that  way,  we'll  find  a  lurking  place, 
just  like  my  own  poor  cave;  where  many  a  day  I  sat 
beside  you,  and  blessed  the  chance  that  brought  you 
to  it— that  I  might  save  your  life. 

Sir  C.  His  life  !  Zounds  !  my  blood  boils  at  the 
scoundrel's  ingratitude ! 

Yar.  Come,  come,  let's  go.  I  always  feared  these 
cities.  Let's  fly  and  seek  the  woods ;  and  there  we'll 
wander  hand  in  hand  together.  No  cares  shall  vex 
us  then — We'll  let  the  day  glide  by  in  idleness ;  and 
you  shall  sit  in  the  shade,  and  watch  the  sun  beam 
playing  on  the  brook,  while  I  sing  the  song  that  pleases 
you.  No  cares,  love,  but  for  food — and  we'll  live 
cheerily,  I  warrant — In  the  fresh,  early  morning,  you 
shall  hunt  down  our  game,  and  I  will  pick  vou  berries 
—and  then,  at  night,  I'll  trim  our  bed  of  leaves,  and 
lie  me  down  in  peace — Oh !  we  shall  be  so  happy ! 

Inkle.  Hear  me,  Yarico.  My  countrymen  and  yours 
differ  as  much  in  minds  as  in  complexions.  We  were 
not  born  to  live  in  woods  and  caves— to  seek  subsist- 
ence by  pursuing  beasts.  We  Christians,  girl,  hunt 
money  ;  a  thing  unknown  to  you. — But,  here,  'tis 
money  which  brings  us  ease,  plenty,  command,  power, 
every  thing ;  and  of  course  happiness.    You  are  the 


5S  INKLE  AND  YARICO,  act  m. 

bar  to  my  attaining  this ;  therefore  'tis  necessary  for 
my  good — and  which  I  think  you  value-— 
\  Yar.    You  know  I  do;    so  much,  that  it  would 
break  my  heart  to  leave  you. 

Inkle.  But  we  must  part :  if  you  are  seen  with  me, 
I  shall  lose  all. 

Yar.  I  gave  up  all  for  you — my  friends — my  coun- 
try :  all  that  was  dear  to  me  :  and  still  grown  dearer 
since  you  sheltered  there.  All,  all  was  left  for  you — 
and  were  it  now  to  do  again — again  I'd  cross  the  seas, 
and  follow  you,  all  the  world  over. 

Inkle.  We  idle  time ;  sir,  she  is  your's.  See  you 
obey  this  gentleman  ;  'twill  be  the  better  for  you. 

[going. 

Yar.  O,  barbarous !  (holding  him)  Do  not,  do  not 
abondon  me ! 

Inkle.  No  more. 

Yar.  Stay  but  a  little  :  I  shan't  live  long  to  be  a 
burden  to  you  :  your  cruelty  has  cut  me  to  the  heart. 
Protect  me  but  a  little — or  I'll  obey  this  man,  and  un- 
dergo all  hardships  for  your  good ;  stay  but  to  witness 
'em.  I  soon  shall  sink  with  grief;  tarry  till  then  ;  and 
hear  me  bless  your  name  when  I  am  dying ;  and  beg 
you,  now  and  then,  when  I  am  gone,  to  heave  a  sigh 
for  your  poor  Yarico. 

Inkle.  I  dare  not  listen  You,  sir,  I  hope,  will  take 
good  care  of  her.  [going. 

Sir  C.  Care  of  her  ! — that  I  will — I'll  cherish  her 
like  my  own  daughter ;  and  pour  balm  into  the  heart 
of  a  poor,  innocent  girl,  that  has  been  wounded  by  the 
artifices  of  a  scoundrel. 

Inlke.  Ha !  'Sdeath,  sir,  how  dare  you ! 

Sir  C.  'Sdeath,  sir,  how  dare  you  look  an  honest  man 
in  the  face  ? 

Inkle.  Sir,  you  shall  feel — 
Sir  C.  Feel ! — It's  more  than  ever  you  did,  I  be- 
lieve.   Mean,  sordid,  wretch!  dead  to  all  sense  of 
honour,  gratitude,  or  liumanity — I  never  heard  of  such 


scene  in.  AN  OPERA.  53 

barbarity !  I  have  a  son-in-law,  w%o  has  been  left  in 
the  same  situation ;  but,  if  I  thought  him  capable  of 
such  cruelty,  dam'me  if  I  would  not  turn  him  to  sea, 
with  a  peck  loaf,  in  a  cockle  shell.  Come,  come, 
cheer  up,  my  girl !  You  shan't  want  a  friend  to  pro- 
tect you,  I  warrant  you.       [taking  Yarico  by  the  hand. 

Inkle.  Insolence !  The  governor  shall  hear  of  this 
insult. 

Sir  C.  The  governor  !  liar  !  cheat !  rogue  !  impos- 
tor !  breaking  all  ties  you  ought  to  keep,  and  pretend- 
ing to  those  you  have  no  right  to.  The  governor  never 
had  such  a  fellow  in  the  whole  catalogue  of  his  ac- 
quaintance— the  governor  disowns  you — the  governor 
disclaims  you— the  governor  abhors  you ;  and  to  your 
utter  confusion,  here  stands  the  governor  to  tell  you 
so.  Here  stands  old  Curry,  who  never  talked  to  a 
rogue  without  telling  him  what  he  thought  of  him. 

Inkle.  Sir  Christopher ! — Lost  and  undone  ! 

Med.  [without]  Holo !  Young  Multiplication! 
Zounds !  I  have  been  peeping  in  every  cranny  of  the 
house.  Why,  young  Rule  of  Three  !  [enters  from 
the  inn]  Oh,  here  you  are  at  last — Ah,  Sir  Christo- 
pher !  What  are  you  there  !  too  impatient  to  wait  at 
home.  But  here's  one  that  what  will  make  you  easy, 
1  fancy.  [tapping  Inkle  on  the  shoulder. 

Sir  C.  How  came  you  to  know  him  ? 

Med.  Ha!  ha!  Well,  that's  curious  enough  too.  So 
you  have  been  talking  here,  without  finding  out  each 
other. 

Sir  C.  No,  no ;  I  have  found  him  out  with  a  ven- 
geance. 

Med.  Not  you.  Why  this  is  the  dear  boy.  It's 
my  nephew,  that  is ;  your  son-in-law,  that  is  to  be. 
It's  Inkle. 

Sir  C.  It's  a  lie  ;  and  you're  a  purblind  old  booby 
—and  this  dear  boy  is  a  damned  scoundrel. 

Med.  Hey-dey,  what's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  One 
was  mad  before,  and  he  has  bit  the  other,  I  suppose, 


6P  INKLE  AND  YAR1C0,  act  hi. 

.  Sir  C.  But  here  comes  the  dear  boy — the  true  boy 
-r-the  jolly  boy,  piping  hot  from  church,  with  my 
daughter. 

Enter  Campley,  JVarcissa,  and  Patty. 

Med.  Campley ! 

Sir  C.  Who  ?  Campley  ;•— it's  no  such  thing. 

Camp.  That's  my  name,  indeed,  Sir  Christopher. 

Sir  C.  The  devil  it  is!  And  how  came  you,  sir,  to 
impose  upon  me,  and  assume  the  name  of  Inkle?  A 
name  which  every  man  of  honesty  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of. 

Camp.  I  never  did,  sir. — Since  I  sailed  from  Eng- 
land with  yoiir  daughter,  my  affection  has  daily  in- 
creased :  and  when  I  came  to  explain  myself  to  you, 
by  a  number  of  concurring  circumstances,  which  J  am 
now  partly  acquainted  with,  you  mistook  me  for  that 
gentleman.  Yet  had  I  even  then  been  aware  of  your 
mistake,  I  must  confess,  the  regard  for  my  own  happi- 
ness would  have  tempted  me  to  let  you  remain  unde- 
ceived. 

Sir  C.  And  did  you,  Narcissa,  join  in — 

War.  How  could  I,  my  dear  sir,  disobey  you  ? 

Patty.  Lord,  your  honour,  what  young  lady  could 
refuse  a  captain  ? 

Camp.  1  am  a  soldier,  sir  Christopher.  Love  and 
War  is  the  soldier's  motto ;  though  my  income  is  tri- 
fling to  your  intended  son-in-law's,  still  the  chance  of 
war  has  enabled  me  to  support  the  object  of  my  love 
above  indigence.  Her  fortune,  Sir  Christopher,  I  do 
not  consider  myself  by  any  means  entitled  to. 

Sir  C.  'Sblood  ?  but  you  must  though.  Give  me 
your  hand,  my  young  Mars,  and  bless  you  both  toge- 
ther .'—-Thank  you,  thank  you  for  cheating  an  old  fel- 
low into  giving  his  daughter  to  a  lad  of  spirit,  when  he 
was  going  to  throw  her  away  upon  one,  in  whose 
breast  the  mean  passion  of  avarice  smothers  the  small*- 
est  spark  of  affection,  or  humanity. 

Inkle.  Confusion  ! 


scene  in.  AN  OPERA.  61 

Mar.  I  have  this  moment  heard  a  story  of  a  trans- 
action in  the  forest,  which,  I  own,  would  have  ren- 
dered compliance  with  your  former  commands  very 
disagreeable. 

Patty.  Yes,  sir,  I  told  my  mistress  he  had  brought 
over  a  hotty-pot  gentlewoman. 

Sir  C.  Yes,  but  he  would  have  left  her  for  you ;  [to 
JSTarcissa]  and  you  for  his  interest;  and  sold  you, 
perhaps,  as  he  has  this  poor  girl,  to  me,  as  a  requital 
for  preserving  his  life. 

JYar.  How  ! 

Enter  Trudge  and  Wcwski. 

Trudge.  Come  along,  Wows  !  take  a  long  last  leave 
of  your  poor  mistress :  throw  your  pretty  ebony  arms 
about  her  neck. 

Wows.  No,  no ; — she  not  go ;  you  not  leave  poor 
Wowski.       ^  [throwing  her  arms  about .Yarico. 

Sir  C.  Poor  girl!  a  companion,  I  take  it ! 

Trudge.  A  thing  of  my  own,  sir.     I  could'nt  help 

following  my  master's  example  in  the  woods- Like 

master,  like  man,  sir. 

Sir  C.  But  you  would  not  sell  her,  and  be  hang'd  to 
you,  you  dog,  would  you  ? 

Trudge.  Hang  me,  like  a  dog,  if  I  would,  sir. 

Sir  C.  So  say  I,  to  every  fellow  that  breaks  an  obli- 
gation due  to  the  feeling  of  a  man.  But,  old  Medium, 
what  have  you  to  say  for  your  hopeful  nephew  ? 

Med.  I  never  speak  ill  of  my  friends,  sir  Christopher, 

Sir  C.  Pshaw  ! 

Inkle.  Then  let  me  speak :  hear  me  defend  a  con- 
duct   / 

Sir  C.  Defend !  Zounds  !  plead  guilty  at  once — it's 
the  only  hope  of  obtaining  mercy. 

Inkle.  Suppose,  old  gentleman,  you  had  a  son  ? 

Sir  C.  'Sblood  !   then  I'd  make  him  an  honest  fel- 
,  low ;  and  teach  hira  that  the  feeling  heart  never  knows 
greater  pride  than  when  it's  employed  in  giving  suc- 
cour to  the  unfortunate.    I'd  teach  him  to  be  his  fa- 
ther's own  son  to  a  hair. 


(#         s  INKLE  AND  YARICO.  act  hi. 

Inkle.  Even  so  my  father  tutored  me :  from  infancy, 
bending  my  tender  mind,  like  a  young  sapling,  to  his 
will. — Interest  was  the  grand  prop  round  which  he 
twined  my  pliant  green  affections :  taught  me  in  child- 
hood to  repeat  old  sayings — all  tending  to  his  own  fixed 
principles,  and  the  first  sentence  that  I  ever  lisped, 
was  charity  begins  at  home. 

Sir  C.  I  shall  never  like  a  proverb  again,  as  long 
as  I  live. 

Inkle.  As  I  grew  up,  he'd  prove — and  by  example 
—were  I  in  want,  I  might  even  starve,  for  what  the 
world  cared  for  their  neighbours ;  why  then  should  I 
care  for  the  world !  men  now  lived  for  themselves. 
These  were  his  doctrines :  then,  sir,  what  would  you 
say,  should  I,  in  spite  of  habit,  precept,  education,  fly 
into  my  father's  face,  and  spurn  his  councils  ? 

Sir  C.  Say  !  why,  that  you  were  a  damned  honest, 
undutiful  fellow.  O  curse  such  principles !  principles, 
which  destroy  all  confidence  between  man  and  man — 
Principles,  which  none  but  a  rogue  could  instil,  and 
none  but  a  rogue  could  imbibe. — Principles— — 

Inkle,  Which  I  renounce. 

Sir  C.  Eh  I 

Inkle.  Renounce  entirely.  Ill-founded  precept  too 
long  has  steeled  my  breast — but  still  'tis  vulnerable — 
this  trial  was  too  much — Nature,  against  habit  com- 
bating within  me,  has  penetrated  to  my  heart ;  a  heart, 
I  own,  long  callous  to  the  feelings  of  sensibility ;  but 
now  it  bleeds — and  bleeds  for  my  poor  Yarico.  Oh, 
let  me  clasp  her  to  it,  while  'tis  glowing,  and  mingle 
tears  of  love  and  penitence.  [embracing  her. 

Trudge,   (capering  about)  Wows,  give  me  a  kiss  ! 
[  Wowski  goes  to  Trudge. 

Yar.  And  shall  we — shall  we  be  happy  ? 

Inkle.  Aye ;  ever,  ever,  Yarico. 

Yar.  I  knew  we  should— and  yet  I  feared— but 
shall  I  still  watch  over  you  ?    Oh !  love,  you  surely 


scene  hi.  AN  OPERA,  £3 

gave  your  Yarico  such  pain,  only  to  make  her  feel 
this  happiness  the  greater. 

Wows,  (going  to  Yarico.)  Oh  Wow  ski  so  happy ! 
-—and  yet  I  think  I  not  glad  neither. 

Trudge.  Eh,  Wows !  How  ! — why  not  ? 

Wows.  'Cause  I  can't  help  cry. 

Sir  C.  Then,  if  that's  the  case — curse  me,  if  I  think 
I'm  very  glad  either.  What  the  plague's  the  matter 
with  my  eyes? — Young  man,  your  hand — I  am  now 
proud  and  happy  to  shake  it. 

Med.  Well,  sir  Christopher,  what  do  you  say  to  my 
hopeful  nephew  now  ? 

Sir  C.  Say !  why,  confound  the  fellow,  I  say,  that 
is  ungenerous  enough  to  remember  the  bad  action  of 
a  man  who  has  virtue  left  in  his  heart  to  repent  it. — 
As  for  you,  my  good  fellow,  (to  Trudge)  I  must,  with 
your  master's  permission,  employ  you  myself. 

Trudge.  O  rare  ! — Bless  your  honour !— Wows  ! 
you'll  be  lady,  you  jade,  to  a  governor's  factotum. 

Wows.  Iss. — I  lady  Jacktotum. 

Sir  C.  And  now,  my  young  folks,  we'll  drive  home, 
and  celebrate  the  wedding.  Od's  my  life !  I  long  to 
be  shaking  a  foot  at  the  fiddles,  and  I  shall  dance  ten 
times  the  lighter,  for  reforming  an  Inkle,  while  I  have 
it  in  my  power  to  reward  the  innocence  of  a  Yarico, 


Campley.    Come,  let  us  dance  and  sing, 

While  all  Barbadoes  bells  shall  ring  5 
Love  scrapes  the  fiddle  string, 

And  Venus  plays  the  lute  ; 
Hymen  gay,  foots  away, 
Happy  at  our  wedding-day, 
Cocks  his  chin,  and  figures  in, 
To  tabor,  fife,  and  flute. 
Chorus.  Come  than,  fe 


64  INKLE  AND  YARICO.  act  m: 

JVareissa.    Since  thus  each  anxious  care 
Is  vanished  into  empty  air, 
Ah !  how  can  I  forbear 

To  join  the  jocund  dance  ? 
To  and  fro,  couples  go, 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe, 
While  with  glee,  merrily, 

The  rosy  hour's  advance. 

Yarico.       When  first  the  swelling  sea 
Hither  bore  my  love  and  me, 
What  then  my  fate  would  be, 

Little  did  I  think— 
Doom'd  to  know  care  and  woe, 
Happy  still  is  Yarico ; 
Since  her  love  will  constant  prove, 
And  nobly  scorn  to  shrink. 

Wowski.     Whilst  all  around  rejoice, 

Pipe  and  tabor  raise  the  voice, 
It  can't  be  Wowski's  choice, 

Whilst  Trudge's,  to  be  dumb. 
No,  no,  dey  blythe  and  gay, 

Shall  like  massy,  missy  play, 
Dance  and  sing,  hey  ding,  ding, 

Strike  fiddle  and  beat  drum. 

Trudge.      'Sbobs !  now  I'm  fix'd  for  love, 

My  fortune's  fair,  though  black's  my  wife, 
Who  fears  domestic  strife — 

Who  cares  now  a  sous ! 
Merry  cheer  my  dingy  dear 
Shall  find  with  her  Factotum  here ; 
Night  and  day,  I'll  frisk  and  play 

About  the  house  with  Wows. 

JnJc1&         Love's  convert  here  behold, 

Banish' d  now  my  thirst  of  gold., 


s.cENEifr.  AN  OPEKA„ 

Blessed  in  these  arms  to  fold 

My  gentle  Yarico. 
Hence  all  care,  all  doubt  and  fear, 
Love  and  joy  each  want  shall  cheer, 
Happy  night,  pure  delight, 
Shall  make  our  bosoms  glow. 

Patty.         Let  Patty  say  a  word— 

A  chambermaid  may  sure  be  heard— 
Sure  men  are  grown  absurd, 

Thus  taking  black  for  white  ; 
To  hug  and  kiss  a  dingy  miss, 
Will  hardly  suit  an  age  like  this, 
Unless,  here,  some  friends  appear, 
Who  like  this  wedding  night, 

THE  END  OF  INKLE  AND  YARiro, 


i 


